Clark
by WriteYourDreamsTheyWillCome
Summary: Clark, a self-conscious outcast in Kansas, is caught by big city reporter Lois Lane while lifting a truck. She starts snooping. Butting heads isn't the best way to meet. He becomes her irritating Daily Planet partner; she becomes his rock. Friendship blooms in unlikely places. Clark discovers more powers & that he's an alien. Will Lois help him find himself in Superman, and love?
1. Chapter 1

Someone watched. That scent of spice and sugar filled the air in the bedroom. Lying so perfectly still until her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight filtering in through the French patio doors, an odd sense of peace flowed where panic should've been.

There. The silhouette of _him_ standing at the foot of the bed. The sheers fluttered in the cool, Fall night breeze where the patio doors sat open. He shouldn't have been able to get up to the third floor apartment through the doors.

"Why have you been following me?" It came out as a low growl. His voice was deeper and richer than imagined. But given his large, muscular frame, it should've been expected. Those large hands fisted at his sides.

Slowly sitting up, she clutched the sheets to her chest as the chill in the air clung to the silk nightgown. "I just want answers."

His silhouette didn't move, but somehow his jaw clenching in irritation could be sensed.

"I saw you lift that truck when it was going to fall on your dad while he was changing a tire— "

"Whatever you think you saw, you're wrong," he hissed. "Stay away from my family."

She frowned. "How did you know where I live?"

He shot around to the side of the bed so fast that she almost missed it. His hot breath puffed in her face. "I know you've been following me for two weeks. Stay off our land, Ms. Lane."

The fact that he knew her name gave pause—she'd been careful to keep a distance and not be seen. "A mother in Smallville said you stopped a car from hitting her son—with only your hands. If you have some kind of muscle mutation that makes you strong, I won't write the story. I protect my sources—"

Large hands wrapped around her upper arms, forcing the sheet to drop. His grip didn't hurt, yet he clearly meant business.

"Leave me alone. I won't repeat myself." It wasn't rage that vibrated from him...it was fear masked as rage. He gave a small shake that made her startle.

"You won't hurt me. A young woman said it was you who came out of nowhere and saved her from a gang attack before you disappeared." The moonlight caught his eyes just right and reflected a paleness—he must have blue eyes. He looked furious now. "You help people. If you want to be anonymous, I won't publish—"

He shot to his feet and shoved the heavy wooden bed without any effort. It slid across the floor, and she grabbed the sheets to hold on.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," he snarled. "I will not warn you again."

In the next instant, he was gone.

Staring at the window, too stunned to move, she drew in a deep breath and whispered, "I know you're not capable of evil. I'll get to the bottom of this, Clark Kent."


	2. Chapter 2

She stood in the cornfield on the side of a country road two days later. Climbing up on the roof of her silver bug car, she pulled on gloves to ward off the nip in the October air. He couldn't live somewhere warm like Florida. No, he had to live in blasted Kansas.

With a sigh of irritation at having to get up at dawn and do a stakeout in the middle of nowhere, she picked up the binoculars on loan from Jimmy, the rookie photographer at The Daily Planet.

Smallville seemed to be a rinky-dink town filled with strange miracles. Almost every one of the dozens of residents spoken with so far had a tale of some kind of rescue by a stranger whom never stuck around long enough to be identified. The tale grew curiouser and curiouser in that the residents seemed to know each other, but this Clark Kent seemed to stick to himself. No one knew much about him, and no one really seemed to care. His parents, Martha and Jon, were well-liked, but it seemed that they started becoming more withdrawn, almost secretive the past fifteen years.

A figure could be made out coming from the barn, but it was hard to tell if it was him or his father. The figure stopped. And then vanished. Another, smaller figure came out on the porch. Maybe being a half mile from the Kent's farmhouse was too far—it was impossible to make out faces.

"I said stay away."

That deep voice from behind caused such a start that she tumbled off the roof...and into his arms.

The landing hurt, almost like being caught by cement.

He dropped her to her feet in a heartbeat and took a step back.

Brushing the hair from her eyes, she blinked up at him.

The man stood more than a head taller and seemed broader up close in daylight than a couple nights ago. Those bright blue eyes didn't hold any patience.

"I don't just walk from a story." She tilted her chin up in defiance.

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine. If you won't talk, I'll ask your parents for an interview."

"Fine. Ask them yourself. They won't do it either." He shove his fingers down in his pockets.

She glanced down, taking in his jeans and blue t-shirt that strained across his biceps and chest. Ugh, there was something slightly sexy about this backroad, arrogant hick. Tearing her eyes away, she looked up to find him smirking. "Fine. Get in the car, and we'll see if they'll interview." She turned and climbed in.

He held the door. "I'll walk back, city girl. Wouldn't want to get your fancy car dirty." He smirked and shut the door before she could reply.

Something about him was so damn irritating, yet drew her in like a moth to a flame.

He showed up right when she opened the car door.

"How did you...?"

"Cut through the cornfields. It's called taking the fastest route, city girl." His tone held a hint of sarcasm, but his eye twinkled like he enjoyed being challenged.

"I'm not just a city girl, you know," she huffed and stood.

He closed her car door and didn't move.

"Well, are we going to the house?"

Those large hands shoved in his pockets again, and he rocked back on his heels. "I'm not the reporter sniffing around. I'll be in the barn." The corner of his mouth turned up, like the brat enjoyed being difficult.

"Fine." She waited for him to move from between her and the car door. "I need my laptop."

The man sidestepped and opened the door with a sweep of his hand. "Your chariot, city girl."

Gritting her teeth, she threw him a look before retrieving the computer. "How did you know I was out there? I was a half mile away." She stood and he shut the door, standing mere inches away.

The world stood still as her heart stumbled at the proximity. Her gaze locked with his, and he leaned in.

His voice grew husky as he whispered in her ear, "I knew because I could smell you."

As he slowly straightened, her heart started thundering. He was too sexy for his own good. Then his words hit. "Smell me? You can't smell me that far! Do you think I'm an idiot?" Rolling her eyes, she headed for the house.

"Well, if the shoe fits..." A slight chuckle softened his voice.

Whipping around with a saucy response, she frowned to see him walking away with his hands still in his pockets. He whistled a tune. "You're a jerk, you know that?!" she called.

"Can't hear ya, city girl!" he called over his shoulder and kept going toward the barn.

Talk about a machoagonistic, arrogant hick. Stomping a foot in irritation, she marched up the front steps of the house.

A lovely, petite, older woman opened the front door with a warm smile. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Lois—"

"Dear, come in. It's too cold to be out there. Step inside and tell me whatcha need."

"Oh, thank you." It was cold. Come to think of it, that did seem odd that Clark Kent had only been wearing a t-shirt.

If childhood paradise and love could smell, this would be it. The old farm house smelled of cookies, warmth and love. Gritting her teeth, she inwardly sighed. Of course Country Boy had a perfect childhood.

"I'm just getting cookies out of the oven. Do you want one, dear? Perhaps hot cocoa to warm up? I daresay your car must've broken down because no one else comes out this far from town." The sweet woman waved for her to follow into the kitchen.

"Actually—"

"I'll get my husband to take a look at your car. He's good at those things," she chattered and pulled on oven mits. "I'll send my son to town if any parts are needed. Do you want to stay for dinner? I'm sure they won't have your car ready in the next thirty minutes." She set the tray of perfect-looking chocolate chip cookies on a rack to cool and looked up in the next instant. "You'll have to excuse my manners. It's been so long since I've had a woman in the kitchen to talk to, and such a lovely one at that. Here, dear, let me take your coat."

She barely took a breath to speak before the woman came over and slid her coat off.

"I'm Martha. Here, I'll take your hat and mittens."

"Thank you, but—" She pulled off the hat.

"Oh, you have lovely brown hair. Mine was never quite brown or blonde, and them there grays came in and now it just looks an odd blonde-gray. Do you do something to make your hair so shiny? Mine is as dry as sticks."

"No, ma'm—"

A lovely laugh filled the air. "Oh, you don't need to call me that, just Martha."

Country Boy and his father walked in at that moment. He didn't look like he was in the mood for joking anymore.

"Dear, this is my husband Jon and son Clark. This is Lois. I've asked her to dinner. Jon her car—"

"She's a reporter." The moment the words left Clark's lips, Martha and Jon stared in silence.

Throwing him a look, she turned her attention to Martha. "I'm sorry, I was going to tell you."

"You're here about my boy, aren't you?" All the warmth left the woman's voice and she paled. "We have a little bit of money..."

"What? No, no, no," she said quickly. "I'm not looking to blackmail." Odd. So she hadn't been the first reporter to come around. "Many of the residents say they've been helped by an anonymous stranger—"

"And you think it's our son?" Jon spoke for the first time. He wasn't a muscular man but did appear to enjoy Martha's cooking. His dull blue-gray eyes held a gentleness, despite his abrasive delivery.

"I do. If he prefers to remain anonymous, I won't write the piece, but—"

"What a fool I was thinking your car broke down." Martha looked ashamed, and Jonathan stepped forward and put an arm around his wife.

Clark took her things from Martha and three steps, bridging the gap, and handed over the items. "I can't believe you lied to her," he hissed under his breath and grabbed her arm. "Time to go," he said a bit louder and ushered her to the living room.

"I didn't lie," she argued. For some reason, it mattered if he thought her a liar.

"Clark! Where are your manners?!" Martha hurried out and stepped in front of the door. "You let go of her. When have I taught you to manhandle a lady?" It was a bit comical watching Martha, who was almost half his size in every sense of the word, take him to task.

"She's not a lady, she's a reporter."

An audible gasp, far too large for the woman's size, came out of Martha. "Shame on you! You apologize and can do the dishes tonight."

His eyebrows rose.

She bit her lip to hold in a smile.

"Right now." Martha pried her arm free. "She's going to think we raised you in the barn. You be a gentleman and apologize and then get her some cocoa."

He turned to her, clearly biting his tongue. "My apologies. Now you can leave."

Martha's jaw dropped, and she swatted his arm. "It's dinner time. Reporter or not, we show folks hospitality. What's gotten into you?"

"Mom, we are not having a reporter hang around."

"Son," Jonathan said as he entered the living room, "would you go feed the cows? Let me talk with them." He patted Clark's shoulder.

Clark didn't even look at her as he walked out, slamming the front door on his way.

Jonathan held out his hand for her things. "Absolutely nothing gets published about tonight. You tell us what you want to write over dinner, and then maybe we'll do an interview. Do I have your word?"

Martha stepped forward and set a hand on her arm, terror reflecting in those kind eyes. "If anyone found out, they'd take away my baby and experiment on him." Tears shimmered in this kind woman's eyes.

These people were perhaps too naïve or too kind to realize that most slimy reporters would agree to anything to get the information—and then sell the story to the highest bidder. "I find myself in unfamiliar territory, as I've never walked away from a story before. If I do write one, I'll let you review it first."

A kind smile warmed Jonathan's face, and Martha's tears melted into a smile full of the trust of a child. When Jonathan held out a hand, she shook it.

"My name is Lois Lane, from The Daily Planet."

"Jonathan Kent, and my wife Martha."

Martha's eyes lit up. "Wait, you're the Lois Lane?"

A sideways glance at Jonathan revealed him crack a smile. "Um, which one?" No one had ever called her the Lois Lane.

"The Pulitzer Prize winner? Oh, I follow all of your stories!" The shorter woman linked an arm through hers and headed toward the kitchen. "Did you really end up a hostage when you did that bank robbery story? You must be more careful—your mother probably worries herself sick at night."

* * *

Her head swam from all the chit chat during dinner. Martha and Jonathan seemed like such sweet people. For some reason, Martha kept complimenting her and then would nudge Clark. He didn't do more than grunt when Martha would try to get him to say anything. His glare, however, remained locked on her—enough that it was hard not to squirm in the chair.

"Jon, would you help me bring the cookies out on a plate?" Martha gave him a pointed look.

"And leave our guest? You've never needed help getting cookies before."

Martha's eyebrows rose to the ceiling, and she nodded in Clark's direction.

"Oh! Oh yes, I'll see if we need to make a trip to the market for milk too." He got up and hurried into the kitchen with Martha.

Awkward silence. She glanced down at the table, never having been at a loss for words before. "I should get going home."

"You cry foul that easily?" He draped his arm across the back of the chair near him and sat back. The posture seemed so country, so...homey coming from him.

Her eyes met his. "I usually don't stay until glares start throwing actual barbs." She set the napkin on the table and started to get up.

"Just because I don't talk much doesn't mean I'm glaring."

She stilled in surprise. He didn't seem to have a malicious tone. "You were stark-raving angry that I was staying for dinner."

"A man's not allowed to change his mind?" He seemed truly perplexed.

Martha came out with cookies and spun right around, going back into the kitchen.

Clark glanced at the plate and then that intense gaze returned to her. "My parents are trying to play matchmaker, you know."

An unladylike snort escaped. "I noticed. You should run for the barn." She stood.

And he shot up from his chair to block her path. "It's considered rude around here to leave before dessert."

Embarrassment grasped now that she had caused such an upheaval for these poor people. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. You won't hear from me again." She grabbed her coat and hurried out the door, but Clark's heavy footsteps followed.

Holding up a hand, she kept walking. "I swear I'm not going to say anything. You don't need to threaten me again."

"I'm not going to threaten you." His voice sounded light like he smiled.

She kept walking quickly down the front steps.

"I have one question."

She sighed and turned.

He stood there with his hands in his jeans pockets, looking so delicious. Her breath caught.

He burst out laughing, the sound a beautiful timber.

"What?" Did he know what she'd been thinking? She blushed to high heaven. "What do you want?"

"Why don't you have questions?"

"I have a thousand questions, but those people don't deserve the terrorizing."

"But I do?" he cracked a smile.

"You're a jerk but are their son, unfortunately for them." She continued walking.

He fell into step beside her. "Are you always so judgmental?"

"I'm a reporter."

"We've established that. But as a woman, are you always so judgmental of men?"

She stopped. "Are you hitting on me?"

"Sweetheart, if I was hitting on you, you'd know it. Don't flatter yourself."

He looked too much like a rake with that boyish smile, so she spun on her heel. "Well, it's good you aren't hitting on me because my boyfriend would beat you." He didn't need to know that there wasn't a boyfriend.

He smiled and caught up to her. "Dating someone on the football team?"

She gave him a look.

"You seem like the type."

"How old are you?" she asked sarcastically.

"Twenty-nine, almost thirty. Too young for you, sweetheart, so stop trying."

Her mouth dropped open and she came to a screeching halt. "I'm twenty-eight in a couple months!"

He looked her up and down. "Good luck with aging."

Her mouth fell open even farther. "I should tell your mother what an ass you are."

He grinned. "The house is the other way. She wouldn't care—you almost made her cry."

"I didn't try to! Why are you following me?!" she barked.

"It's fun irritating you."

Tilting her head back to his substantial height was a mistake—it put him too close, too much like two people about to kiss. His finger reached up and stroked a strand of hair off her cheek.

Her heart took off at a million miles a minute.

His brow furrowed, as if something surprised and confused him. "Do I make you nervous?" Gentle concern filled his hypnotizing blue eyes, and his voice took on a husky quality.

With a slow shake of her head, she tore her gaze away to stare at his chest.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he whispered. "Why is it doing that if you're not nervous?" He seemed baffled.

Then it dawned and her eyes jumped to his. "How do you know my heart is beating fast?"

But he took a large step back and dropped his hand, almost as if he'd let something slip. "Come inside. I'll go check on the cookies—"

"Can you hear things that other people can't? Is that how you got to so many people when they were in trouble? You're strong enough to pick up trucks."

Those broad shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn.

"Were you born with some kind of mutation that heightened—"

He spun around and truly glared this time. "That made me a freak?" his voice cut in with such self-hatred.

She frowned. "No. Is that what you've been called? Why you hide here with your parents in this back-hills town when you're almost thirty years old?"

Instead of a smartass reply, his gaze fell to the floor, and he seemed to withdraw into himself.

"I don't mean that as an insult. You just make no sense hating me one minute and then the next..."

His corded throat convulsed in a hard swallow, as he seemed to be having some kind of internal battle. "You're reputed to protect your sources, even when it means trouble for you. Can I trust you that you'll keep tonight off the books?"

"If you request it, I'm bound to honor it." Her brow knit. It seemed like an odd turn of events that he'd divulge any secrets.

"Stop interviewing the town," he said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. "My senses became heightened as a teenager, compared to most people. I've always been strong when I'm upset—the doctor believed it to be an abnormal adrenaline surge. That's the big secret to your story—I can hear people in trouble from a distance."

"You said the doctor 'believed'—what does he think now?" Something about him seemed so sad, so alone that she set a hand on his arm.

He jerked his arm free and stared at where she'd touched.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so familiar." Perhaps he didn't like being touched if his senses were heightened.

With a slow shake of his head, he finally met her gaze.

And he looked shaken to the core.

* * *

It had snowed so heavily during dessert that the roads were impassable.

"You're welcome to take my bed, and I can sleep on the sofa," Clark offered in subdued tones when Martha went upstairs to get some extra blankets. He'd been quiet over dessert, but the man again had stared at her the entire time.

"No, I've imposed enough. Besides, you're too big to fit on the sofa." Martha's nightgown had been too little, so Clark had loaned a sweatshirt and sweatpants that had needed the arms and legs rolled up. This was too intimate for comfort—wearing his clothes with his scent on them. It created an odd fluttering in her stomach.

When she looked up, he stared again. "What?"

"What?" He blinked.

"Why do you keep staring?"

No expression or answer came for several seconds. "You're so graceful."

That seemed like an odd thing to say.

"Goodnight." Then he spun on his heel and went upstairs.

She blinked at the sudden end to the conversation.

After lying in the dark for an hour and thoughts of the strange man upstairs keeping sleep at bay, she got up and pulled on her boots and coat. Cold, night air would do some good. Plus, the first snowfall of the season was always so peaceful and lovely.

Out on the porch, Jack Frost had a strong nip in the air, but not enough to abandon the beautiful scenery of snow blanketing the countryside. The stars glowed so brightly out here away from the cloak of city lights. A body could get used to this in-the-moment, gentler pace of life in the country.

She took a step down the porch stairs to go stand in the yard and let the snowflakes fall on her face.

"Dear, it's too cold out here!" Martha said from directly behind.

Jumping with fright, her foot slipped on the icy step. The railing sailed closer to her nose as the world tipped.

A gust of wind and pain exploded through her head right before strong arms wrapped around, slowing the fall as everything went black.

* * *

"She needs to go to the hospital." A deep voice spoke quietly.

"Did you see anything wrong?" That female voice sounded familiar, but it was too hard to place it through the haze.

"No, but I'm not a doctor." That voice sounded anxious.

"Just give her a minute. She's only been out for a few seconds." An older man's voice cut in, serving as a rock for the anxiety growing in the room.

"Dad, this isn't the old days. Concussions are taken much more seriously." Then he silenced. "Her heart rate is picking up. She's coming to."

Forcing her eyes open, colors blurred together into blobs.

"Can you see alright?" That deep voice. Memories floated back. Clark.

A small shake of her head induced nausea, and a bowl shoved in her lap just in time.

He gently replaced his hand holding her hair back with a rubber band once her stomach calmed.

"I'm sorry—"

"Hush, dear. I shouldn't have startled you. Jon, see if you can get Dr. Johnson on the phone to find out what to do until we can get her to a hospital," Martha ordered as the basin was taken away.

"No, I'll be alright."

"You're not alright." Clark's tone didn't leave room for argument. The sofa slowly sank on her right side and body heat radiated from hard muscles. A cold rag pressed to her brow. "You can't see much, can you? You're looking at the wall instead of Mom."

"I just see blobs." She took over holding the rag and closed her eyes as nausea threatened again.

"I can get her to the hospital," he said under his breath.

"Yes, but the wind chill is already dropping to twenty below. Running will give her frostbite or hypothermia," Martha whispered back.

The conversation made no sense, but there wasn't any energy to argue. As the world began to tip, she reached out a hand to brace and felt a very hard thigh.

A strong hand wrapped around her upper arm, as if to catch her.

"I think I'm...gonna fall," she panted. The nausea worsened.

"Lie down—you're swaying." But before she could move, he laid her down as easily as if she were a doll.

Jonathan's voice returned. "The Doc said that it just sounds like a bad concussion and get her checked as soon as the blizzard stops."

"Get her bundled—I'm taking her now." Then Clark's footsteps faded away.

The moment Martha helped her sit up, nausea reared full force and the world melted into blackness.

* * *

She woke up to beeping and blurry images moving around.

"I'll go tell the doctor she's awake," a female voice said.

"Thank you," a deep male voice responded.

She held her head and tried to sit up.

"Whoa, city girl. Stay in bed." Hands gently pushed her back down.

"Clark?" She squinted.

"Yours truly. Can you see?"

"No, everything looks worse."

"Umm...nurse!" he called nervously and his outline shot toward the door.

She rubbed her eyes. "Who took out my contacts!"

"Contacts? You can't see because of contacts?"

"Yes! Where are we?!" She saw an I.V. in her arm.

"Helllooo, sleeping beauty," he grumbled. "You have a concussion. We're at the hospital. You almost smashed your head open..."

Someone walked in and Clark's silhouette backed up.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Murphy. You're at St. Joseph Hospital. Do you have any blurred vision?" A light flashed in her eyes.

"Yes, I would appreciate having my contacts back so I can see."

"In a minute. Any nausea, dizziness..."

"No, may I have my contacts now?" she asked in irritation. He listened to her heart, ignoring her mood.

"And how long was she unconscious before you brought her in, Mr. Lane?"

"Five minutes," Clark answered.

"Lucky you were nearby," the doctor said.

"Yep, we almost weren't going to move to the city. Lucky thing to be near the neuro hospital."

She had to be hallucinating.

"I'd say we keep your wife overnight just to be sure."

She opened her mouth but Clark quickly said, "Sounds good."

The doctor left.

"No, it doesn't! And when did you become my husband?!" She looked at her left hand quickly to see a gold band. "Oh god, we didn't," she felt nauseous again.

He chuckled and dropped into the chair near the bed. "Don't you remember, sweetheart? You're crazy wild in bed."

She felt faint.

"Relax. Mom gave me her ring because she said they wouldn't let me in with you unless we were married."

She released a huge breath.

"You could do a lot worse," he commented.

"Just because you look beautiful doesn't mean your personality matches," she retorted.

"You think I'm beautiful," he moved close, his grin apparent.

"What, are you like, twelve? You're so immature."

"Hey, you bicker right along with me."

"Because you're so arrogant."

"So have Mr. Football come beat me," he said dryly.

"You don't want to mess with him," she bragged.

"Oooh, Mr. Muscles," he mocked.

"Lex Luther."

He was silent.

"Yeah," she smirked.

"You're with him?"

Was, but he didn't need to know that. He sounded...disappointed. "Why?"

"He is a billionaire yet isn't Mr. Philanthropist."

She tensed. "And you are?"

"I'm almost as poor as a church mouse but don't turn away from the needy," he frowned. "He probably flies you to Paris for the weekend, but has never lowered himself to handing a beggar a dollar. Probably buys you diamonds monthly too. Easier than working to win affection."

Put like that, Lex did sound narcissistic. And she sounded like a brat.

"Weekly," she said and carefully sat up. "I hardly have use for such things, but he'd get angry if I give them away or sell them to charities," she said quietly.

"Bet he taught you that with a black eye." He said it simply, not accusingly, not judgmentally.

She didn't say anything.

"Just because men are stronger, it's okay to hit women?" he asked gently.

"Most people have a limit when pushed hard enough." Why was she embarrassed? She sounded so pathetic; didn't she learn?

"You pushed me too," he said quietly. "I could flick you with my finger and crush through your skull. But you knew that."

She kept her eyes downcast on her hands. "I studied you out first. And your eyes are too soft—you wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Why do you stay with him?"

She laughed bitterly. "I have the worst taste in men. He's far above what I dated in high school. Maybe when I'm forty I'll finally pick someone nice."

"Why do you stay with him?" he repeated and moved closer so she could see him. His eyes were sad.

"Did. Don't pity me," she said defensively.

"I don't. I just wonder why someone as accomplished as you would feel like you needed someone like him."

"Why would someone who studied journalism at an Ivy league college live on a farm with his parents?"

"I have a secret that threatens my life if it got out," he shrugged. "It's easier to hide this way."

"And not live? I bet you've never had a girlfriend," she frowned, trying to figure him out.

He shrugged. "If you're any indication of the opposite sex, I'm better off," he smiled.

"And lonely," she whispered, an ache growing for him—like his loneliness was becoming hers.

His gaze slid to the floor.

An awkward silence fell. "You don't have to stay."

Those blue eyes slowly lifted to meet hers. "You're nervous being at the hospital," he said so gently. Then he cleared his throat and looked away, as if remembering himself. "I know I'm not your first choice, but I can stay."

For some reason, that tugged at her heart. "Maybe you're not so bad, Clark Kent."

"You're not so bad yourself, city girl," he replied, those eyes looking right into her.

His eyes narrowed and he jumped up the same instant that a wave of nausea slammed, shoving a bowl in her lap and holding her hair back just in time.

The next couple hours were a blur as the nausea and dizziness tried to return, despite the medicines. But he stayed close, helping her sit up when nausea threatened. When the dizziness grew so bad that she had to lie down with her eyes closed and clutch the sheets just to be grounded to something, his hand silently slipped into hers and held fast. His other hand firmly held her upper arm through the night, somehow lessening the dizziness a fraction with the reassurance that the room wasn't truly spinning.

She woke up late the next morning to a note on the bedside table.

 _Ran home to shower and change. Back soon._

 _Clark_

Within fifteen minutes, he returned and looked as fresh as ever. "Hey, city girl. I brought some fried chicken, but you, unfortunately, get hospital food." He sat with a bag of delicious smelling food in his lap.

She looked at it longingly with a sigh.

He grinned and pulled out two paper plates. "Shhhh," he set a finger to his lips. "Can your stomach handle it? The nurse mentioned that you kept down breakfast."

With a smile, she bit her lip and pretended to be a good patient when the nurse brought in some mush for an early lunch.

She turned to him when they were alone and handed over her tray.

"Um, no. You eat that." He eyed the revolting gruel.

"No, come on. Give me some chicken." She bounced in the bed slightly in excitement.

He chuckled. "They record what you eat. After your tray is clear, you can have chicken."

"Nooo," she whined. "You can't make me eat this goo."

He gave a stern look.

"At least take some of it. Come on, you have to be like, 220 pounds. You can pack some of this away."

"City girl," he warned.

She plopped it on her lap and sighed. It took ten minutes and a lot of grimacing to eat what appeared to be soup.

"You're such a baby," he laughed.

She held out a spoonful to him.

He took a tiny taste. "Ugh! Ew, that's awful!" He jumped up and got a drink of water.

"And you're making me eat it," she pouted.

"Don't give me puppy eyes. It's for your own good." He returned to his seat.

The nurse came in a few minutes later. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No," she replied.

"Oh dear."

"Have you tasted this? It's awful."

"I know. If you eat a few more bites, I'll take it away."

"I'm nauseous," she lied.

"Lois," he warned.

"You people like torturing me," she whined and choked down a couple more bites.

The nurse took the tray away, and she nearly jumped him for the food.

"Whoa, tiger," he smiled and held it away. "Stay in bed."

"I haven't had real food since dinner. Feed me!"

He laughed and filled her plate with chicken and mashed potatoes. Then he set it in her lap and snatched his hand away. "Don't eat me."

"Har har." She took a bite and her eyes rolled back. "Oh my god, did your mom make this? It's amazing," she asked around a mouthful.

He sat back and watched her devour her plate.

"Don't you want it? I'll eat it." She held out a hand for his plate.

"I think you made a world record. Yes, I want it, and no, I made it."

She froze with a chicken leg to her lips and stared at him. "You cook? Like this? Why aren't you married? I will remain your wife if you cook for me." She chowed down while he slowly ate, apparently vastly entertained.

"Yeah, I'd have to cook cuz you can't eat anywhere in public," he smiled.

"Did you bring more?"

"Nope." His plate was cleared, and he pulled out two slices of chocolate cake. "I've heard women like chocolate."

"Oooh," she beamed as he unwrapped it.

"Wow, who says women are difficult? Throw food at them, and they're happy as clams." He handed her a plate.

"Oh, this is better than the chicken," she purred. After wolfing down her piece, she dug in the plastic bag. "Do you have anything else?"

"Uh, no. I didn't realize I was feeding a bear."

"I'm starving today. I could eat for two people," she mumbled and dropped the bag back on the floor beside him. "Why are you looking at me so bug eyed?"

"You're not pregnant are you? The doctor asked me before they did the CT, and I didn't dare x-ray you myself in case."

"No!"

He let out a sigh of relief.

"Why would I be pregnant?"

He started tidying up.

"You're not getting out of this." She crossed her arms over her chest, catching her I.V. and ripping it out. "Ow!"

He darted over with a gauze before the blood even started to leak out and held firm pressure. "You are accident prone, aren't you?" He looked under the gauze. "You tore the vein pretty good. I think the doctor needs to look at it."

"No, I'm fine..."

He lifted it for her to see, her words dying when she saw a one-inch tear and blood pumping out. He trotted out the door and returned with a nurse.

"We're going to need to stitch that. I'll be back with a doctor," she said.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took over holding the gauze. "I see it will be a task returning you home in one piece, city girl," he winked at her.

She swallowed down the butterflies in her stomach. "Why would I be pregnant?"

He busied himself with her hand and mumbled, "You have a boyfriend and surprises happen."

"I'm kinda old fashioned," she blushed.

His eyes rose to hers. "Are you now?"

"Uncool, I know."

"Very cool," he countered quietly with a smile.

She locked eyes with him, but a doctor entered with supplies. Clark gave up his seat. He did, however, hover on her other side while her hand was numbed.

When the first stitch was placed, he looked worried and sat on the bed, rubbing her knee through the blanket.

"Alright?" Clark asked.

She nodded with a smile. "I can't feel it anymore."

"Good luck having kids. He'll be a wreck in delivery," the doctor grumbled.

She turned ten shades of red; Clark gave an embarassed smile.

As it turned out, hospitals gave certain foods after a concussion for a reason—chicken and cake weren't fun coming back up.

There was no recollection of the trip home, just feeling miserable and being in strong arms as he walked up the front steps of his house.

Clark sat in a chair when she insisted on sleeping on the sofa instead of in his bed. He ran an ice-cold rag over her temples, the only thing that worked to keep the nausea away.

"You don't have to stay up," she breathed. Even the effort to talk triggered dizziness.

"I'm fine. Besides, you need someone to watch you. I'm sorry about lunch—I didn't realize you need to take it slow today."

A gentle, cold breeze swept over her face. That helped with the terrible headache that worsened the dizziness. A soft sigh escaped. "Did you open a window? That helps so much," she whispered.

The light breeze continued, but had a slow, even pattern like that of someone breathing. Odd. Maybe it was the angle of the wind coming through the window. Blessed sleep came.

* * *

The sun shined through the windows the next morning.

Rubbing her eyes, only a light headache remained and vision was clear for the most part.

Clark slept in the recliner with his cell phone still in his hand. He looked dead tired having woken her up every hour during the night, claiming it was the doctor's orders.

Nature called. Sitting up slowly seemed to go alright. Standing, however, resulted in a tumble into Clark's lap.

He startled awake, and his arms pulled her against his chest. "Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I was trying to get up for the washroom."

"You're too injured to get up alone." He scooped her up and stood like she weighed nothing. Then he carried her up the stairs.

Her arms wrapped around his neck. His large muscles felt hard—to the point of being uncomfortable to touch. The man didn't seem breathless after carrying her up the staircase and down the hall. But by the time he deposited her in the bathroom, his muscles seemed softer like how they should be. Maybe concussions caused hallucinations.

The moment her feet touched the ground and she set a hand on the counter, he stepped back. "Are you alright alone, or should I get my mom?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks."

Drying her hands minutes later, a knock came.

"Is it alright if I come in?" He must've been standing there waiting.

"Yeah."

A frown wrinkled his brow as he entered and took in her using the walls and counter for balance to shuffle across the room. "Can you see straight yet?"

"Things are just a little blurry now." But the room dipped and pitched forward.

"Whoa." His arms held tight.

It was like slamming into a wall. "Ow, god, you're like cement. You should work out a little less." She rubbed her arm as he scooped her up.

"Maybe you should more so you have better reaction time on icy steps."

She wrapped her arms around his neck that was hard as stone again. His profile had an edge to it that stemmed from tension. "How did you catch me last night? You weren't even out on the porch."

"I didn't catch you."

"I felt you."

He sighed through his nose. "Fine, I did. I was coming out with Mom."

"No, you weren't. Your mom was standing in the doorway alone—I saw her right when I fell."

The muscle in his jaw flexed, as if he gritted his teeth. "I practically shoved her out of the way—"

"You wouldn't have been able to reach me in time."

"I think you hit your head too hard." He reached the bottom of the staircase. His muscles softened enough that there was almost give under her fingers.

As he lowered her onto the sofa, she held onto his neck to keep him there and searched his eyes. "Clark..." The words to ask what had happened to him that made him seem too fast and too strong, in addition to his super hearing and sight, faded as his eyes locked with hers.

Sadness and loneliness emanated from him. The trust that had begun to form was so fragile yet.

Without breaking eye contact, he gently pulled her arms free. The skin of his hands grew noticeably softer in those seconds, and his touch no longer caused discomfort. He didn't straighten as his eyes fell to her lips.

There was something so calm and safe about him. If he didn't still hold her arms, the urge to stroke his cheek would've been too strong to resist. "They're wrong, you know," she whispered, not wishing to break the spell.

"Who?" he breathed, his eyes so gentle.

"Whomever spoke ill of you. You're kind, and it doesn't matter what condition you have."

He shot upright in the blink of an eye, and his expression stoned over. "Mom should be getting up. I'll get her and grab a nap. Good day, Ms. Lane."

The man was half way up the staircase before his words sank in. Unable to sit up or turn around to look at him without falling off the sofa from dizziness, she bit her lip. Profound sadness swelled for his coldness and for his hurt. If he truly had super hearing, he would catch her words that simply needed to get out. "I only wished to repay the gentle kindness you've shown me," she whispered.

His footsteps hesitated near the top of the stairs.

"Good day, Mr. Kent," she breathed, with tears in her eyes for the sudden emptiness that his coldness left in her heart.

It took a moment before his footsteps finished climbing the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Martha and Jonathan were hospitable hosts, but they seemed aware of the discord with their son. Things were slightly strained by the elephant in the room, until she broached the subject when Clark still hadn't come down after lunch.

Able to sit up now without dizziness, she accepted Jonathan's offer to take her empty plate to the kitchen and turned to Martha, who sat on the other end of the sofa. "Martha, I appreciate everyone's kindness and help, but I'm afraid I've deeply offended your son. I don't wish to make him prisoner in his own home, and I've put out everyone else enough. I must ask to borrow your phone again and see if I'm able to get through to my sister. She's only a couple hours away—"

"What nonsense is this? You're welcome to stay as long as you need." Martha frowned.

Jonathan walked in at that moment and sat in the recliner. "Roads are going to take some time to be plowed, and it may not be safe to drive. The last thing you need is a car accident and to hit your head again."

If only her cell phone wasn't dead, she could sneak a call in. Without being able to walk straight yet, it seemed no calls would be made.

"What's this about you offending Clark?" Martha set a hand over hers. "He's a sweet boy and doesn't take offence to much anything. What happened?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. He mentioned that he has heightened senses and to stop interviewing the residents. I get the sense that he's struggled to be accepted. Early this morning he was kind enough to carry me to the washroom. When he brought me back, I said that they're wrong whatever they said about him. That seemed to greatly upset him, and he left." She fingered his pajama bottoms nervously and finally looked up at Martha. "I'm feeling much better and think it'd be best if I go."

Martha gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I think your words struck home more than you realize. He was always strong for his age, and when he began having heightened senses at the end of middle school, he struggled even more to fit in." She paused and tears shimmered in her eyes. "Clark learned to rely only on himself. Sometimes when someone shows him genuine kindness, he pushes people away if they get too close. I think he pulled away because your words meant a lot to him."

Doubtful. "He used my formal name, Martha. I don't mean to sound rude, but I don't think it's right to stay." Hopefully he wasn't awake to hear the begging.

Jonathan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I need you to trust us, Lois. I don't think he's upset, and the doctor said you're to rest for a couple days. I'm not putting you in a car to bounce around for even five minutes."

So she kept quiet about it and listened for any noise upstairs over the next two hours.

It was late afternoon when footsteps came down the stairs, and her laugh at Jonathan's story died. Martha's laugh melted into a brilliant smile as she looked over to the stairs. "You're finally awake, sleepyhead. Come have a cookie."

Jonathan resumed telling his story as Clark came over to a chair across from the sofa. He glanced at her as he swiped a cookie and sat.

Her gaze darted to Jonathan. Clark's gaze could be felt. Every muscle tensed tighter and tighter the next several minutes, trying harder and harder to pretend to listen to Jonathan's and Martha's conversation. Smiles grew more and more forced until the tension felt like muscles were about to snap every bone. Unable to stand the tension a moment longer, she pushed aside the blanket and moved to stand. And froze the moment he stood.

"What do you need, dear?" Martha asked and set a hand on her back.

"I just need the washroom. I'll be right back." She braced to get up.

"You can't walk on your own yet. Clark, help her upstairs," Martha ordered.

"No, really, I'm fine." He was the last one who would want to help. To prove her point, she slowly stood and held the sofa arm to balance. The room stopped swaying after a moment.

Clark stepped around the coffee table. "No, you're not," he growled and reached for her.

"I'm alright." She held up a hand to stop him and took a slow step. "I won't get better if I'm babied."

"A concussion is something to baby," Jonathan argued. "Clark helps or I do, and I guarantee I'm not fit enough to catch you on stairs."

Not wanting to offend Clark more, she kept quiet and accepted his hand to shuffle across the distance between the sofa and stairs. His other hand rested on the small of her back the moment there was room for him to walk beside her. His hands were hard as rock again.

Martha and Jonathan resumed conversation, which offered some privacy.

She let go of his hand and grabbed the railing. "You don't have to, I'm fine," she whispered.

His hand withdrew from her back too.

Although the reaction wasn't unexpected, it still stung.

Holding the railing in a white-knuckled grip, she kept quiet as he followed slightly behind, as if ready to catch her.

Finally reaching the bathroom, she clutched the doorknob for support, almost in a sweat from feeling so ill from the dizziness. "Thank you. You don't have to stay."

Those blue eyes held hers for a minute, utterly unreadable. "You think I'm that much of a jerk?" It was a question without emotion.

"No, I know I offended you and am not your favourite person. I'm sorry that I brought it up. I didn't think it'd hurt you."

He frowned. "It didn't offend me." That uncertain, self-conscious look returned to his eyes. "I...your words caught me by surprise. I'm not used to people not thinking I'm a freak." His eyes narrowed and he held under her elbows. "Sit. You're getting pale and your heart is slowing like you're going to faint."

She sat on the cool bathroom tile and accepted his help as he got a cold rag and set it on the back of her neck. "Thank you." When he sat to the right and stretched out his long legs, she risked a glance at him. "I'm not going to write a story."

With a nod, he turned his head to look at her. "I know. You promised that last night, and I trust you. Do you feel better? Your color is coming back."

"Yeah. I think I was upright too long."

He stood, took her hands, and pulled.

Black spots monopolized everything, and it took hard blinking to make them fade.

His arms wrapped around to hold her to his chest. "You're not going to faint on me if I leave you in here, are you?"

A small smile tugged as vision cleared. "I think I'm okay now." His face came into focus just inches away as he gazed down. His body rapidly grew softer to what a man should feel like.

"Alright," he said quickly and scooped her up to deposit on the other end of the washroom. Then he left and shut the door.

When she opened the door minutes later, he stood at the ready but didn't touch. She held the doorframe and searched his eyes. He seemed guarded again. "I know you said your senses are heightened. You don't seem to like physical contact. Does it hurt when I touch you?"

He shook his head but wouldn't comment further.

* * *

The world seemed steady by the next day. Clark reappeared for the first time since yesterday's bathroom trip. He walked into the kitchen at breakfast and grabbed his coat from the hook at the back door. "I'm running out. I'll be back in a bit."

Martha frowned and set more hot, homemade pancakes on a plate. "At least grab a bite. Where are you going?"

"I'll eat when I get back. I've got a doctor appointment."

Both Martha and Jonathan spun around and looked terrified.

"Just routine, Mom." He pecked a kiss on Martha's cheek and then gave a nod to his father.

His parents exchanged a worried glance.

Her reporter's nose smelled something more to this. Much more. When he headed for the living room, she followed. "Clark?"

He turned.

Walking up to him to keep the conversation private, she glanced back at the kitchen. "Um, your parents seemed upset. I'm feeling well enough to be home alone if they should go with you."

"Just routine."

"Liar."

That made him freeze.

"I'm a reporter. You'll have to make everyone do better acting than that. There's something wrong that you're going to an unexpected doctor appointment."

"Nope." Then he walked out the door.

He returned home an hour later. Stepping through the front door, he scanned the room and caught her eye where they all sat in the living room talking. "Lois, are you feeling well enough for a car ride?"

"Clark, is everything alright?" Martha looked worried sick.

When he hesitated, Jonathan spoke up. "Come upstairs and tell us what's going on."

They were gone about five minutes before Clark came down. "If you're up for it, I need you to come with. The doctor has some questions."

She frowned. "Questions for me?"

He nodded but seemed reluctant to elaborate. "I need you to not ask why."

"But, are you alright?" She got up and accepted his help putting on her coat.

"He's not sure."

This was highly peculiar. And too intriguing to pass up.

* * *

"I'm not going to ask how you got here and back in an hour when it took us an hour to drive here." She gave him a look in the car as he pulled up to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

Clark didn't comment but came around and took her bare hand in his to help walk over the snow. He didn't let go as they went up the stairs inside either.

The second floor was a lab, with an exam table and hospital equipment.

She jerked to a halt, her heart going a thousand miles a minute. "What the hell is this?!" she hissed. "Are you in some kind of black market experiment?!" Jerking her hand to make him get out of here as fast as possible, her eyes darted around. Maybe no one had seen them yet.

"Lois, it's alright." His hand tightened. Even though his skin was soft, there was abnormal strength apparent underneath. "He's a physician and scientist at Johns Hopkins. Regular doctors have never been able to help me, but he has. I promise this isn't what it looks like."

Every muscle trembled in fright as she met his eyes.

He held up their joined hands. "Do you feel how my skin gets soft when I touch you?"

She gave a small nod.

"I need you here so he can see to figure out what's going on."

Her eyes darted around as the shaking worsened. "Clark, I was in the Middle East doing a story on what they do to prisoners. They did horrific experiments in makeshift labs and - "

Gentle hands cupped her face and forced her eyes to meet his. "Lois, nobody is going to do anything to harm anyone. I've been going to him since I was fifteen. He's never hurt me, and he won't hurt you."

Giving a slow nod, she clutched his hand as he led the way to a middle-aged man who wore a lab coat and looked into a microscope. "Dr. Klein? We're back."

The older man turned and smiled, his face kind and eyes brimming with intelligence. "So this is the mysterious woman. Don't look so frightened. This is all set up for Clark's privacy—staff going through records is something we want to keep to a minimum for him. I promise I'm a legitimate doctor." He offered his hand. "Dr. Klein."

"Lois." She reached out.

He withdrew his hand at the last minute. "I didn't think to not contaminate the field. May I swab your hand? I suspect there's a lotion or bacteria or something that is incompatible with his skin."

With a glance at Clark like this was crazy, she gave a nod.

After he swabbed her palm, he went to the microscope.

Silence filled the room for several minutes. Clark seemed slightly nervous, which didn't help the stress.

"I don't see anything unusual." Dr. Klein came over.

Clark let go of her hand and held his out to the doctor, palm up. "Lois, would you mind waiting?" He nodded toward a couple chairs on the far side of the warehouse near the stair entrance.

"Sure." With one last glance over her shoulder, she frowned when the doctor touched his hand and seemed surprised that it wasn't rock hard.

The doctor had drawn a patient privacy screen by the time she'd sat—fifteen minutes ago. They talked quietly in hushed tones. Worry gnawed. It was never good when a doctor appointment took long. Whatever strange condition Clark had didn't matter—the fact that his body could change density was enough in itself to be a sign of something bad happening. For some reason, it mattered if something was wrong with Clark, perhaps more than it should. She stood. Pacing might help burn through some of this anxiety. The doctor could be a quack or some lunatic posing as a physician, taking advantage of Clark too.

"Ow!"

Clark? Without waiting another second, she ran across the distance. If that psycho had done anything to hurt him... Shoving back the divider, she froze.

The doctor shook out his hand, and a syringe with a bent needle lay on the exam table. Clark sat on the table—shirtless.

He was absolutely beautiful, with a body sculpted to perfection and hard muscles in all the right places.

"Lois?"

Her gaze ripped up to his. Then it dawned that she'd been ogling. A flush crept up, and it took a moment to speak. "Um, I heard someone get hurt and was just checking everything's okay."

A soft smile spread over his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a handsome manner. "He poked himself."

"Come put your hand on his arm," the doctor ordered.

Looking from the doctor to Clark and back in confusion, she stepped forward and set a hand on his forearm. The doctor moved it to the crook of Clark's arm.

"I'm going to get a bandage." The older man held up his bleeding finger and busied himself on the other side of the lab. That left privacy with Clark.

It seemed so intimate touching him without a shirt on. Clearing her throat, she stared at the exam table. Not a thing would come to mind besides how warm and strong he felt.

"Your heart is racing," he whispered.

When she glanced up, he wore a teasing smile. "I thought he was starting to chop you up." The lie slipped out to mask the fact that it had nothing to do with nerves anymore and everything to do with this beautiful specimen of a man close enough to kiss.

"And you'd come to my rescue if he was, city girl?" Something in his smile changed from teasing to intimate.

This had grown far too personal. "I never said anything about rescuing," she retorted and wouldn't meet his eyes.

His skin began to soften to like that of skin over a knuckle.

"What condition do you have?" The words came out more soft and concerned than intended, but not disgenuine.

"No one knows," he replied just as quietly. "Off the books?"

She nodded and looked up.

"My molecular structure is denser than it should be. He thinks that's why I'm so strong."

Her brow furrowed and dread began to form a knot deep inside. "And the fact that your skin gets softer is the molecular density breaking down?"

"That's what he suspects."

"Like, breaking down as in your skin is just going to keep decomposing?" Her eyes widened.

"He needs to run more tests first."

Dr. Klein came over at that minute with a new syringe. He withdrew her hand and slid the syringe in Clark's arm.

Clark startled, and his brow furrowed in pain...almost as if it was a new sensation.

She set a hand on his knee. "You've never been hurt, have you?"

"No pain threshold can build up if there's never been stimuli," Dr. Klein answered for him. "This is likely to him what a wasp sting would be to you and I." Then he withdrew the syringe. Dr. Klein wiped the puncture wound...and it was healed.

Her gaze whipped to Clark and then the doctor in shock. They both looked just as surprised.

"This blood looks absolutely normal, albeit a bit more oxygenated," Dr. Klein said a minute later from his seat at the microscope. "I need a tissue sample. Ms. Lane, put your hand on his arm again."

Backing up, she held up her hands. "No. I didn't sign up to be part of tortures or experiments."

"Lois, it's alright. It might heal right away too." Clark didn't look as concerned as he should be.

"A skin scraping, not a full punch biopsy even," the doctor promised.

Five minutes later, she grit her teeth and checked his arm again. "I get to yell at you for this when it's over, you know." His skin remained rock hard no matter where she touched.

"I think getting skinned qualifies as punishment in itself," Clark replied with a nervous laugh.

"Why isn't this working?" Even giving a hard rub didn't do anything.

"Maybe being afraid of what a scraping will feel like when a poke hurt that much," he muttered.

"Well, the only other thing is to take blood from her and see if it reacts with yours somehow." Dr. Klein walked over with a new syringe.

Clark jumped off the table and landed with a hard thud, like a sledge hammer hitting concrete. "There was no mention of doing anything to her. She stays out of it."

She glanced down at cracks in the cement floor that spidered out from under his feet. "Um, I think you broke the floor."

Dr. Klein gave an odd look to her and then Clark. "Alright, I won't do anything to her. Sit on the table and we'll keep trying to see if her touch does anything to you."

His muscles visibly relaxed and he hopped on the table. And didn't even make it creak.

"Hop on the floor again. As hard as you can," the doctor stated.

Clark frowned but did. It sounded like a normal man landing on his feet, without any cracks in the floor.

"Ms. Lane, come, please." Dr. Klein picked up a scalpel and didn't move.

Every muscle in Clark's back visibly bulged and grew ever so slightly larger. "What the hell is wrong with you? Put it down," he hissed.

She set a hand on Clark's back and peeked around, frightened of this psycho too.

When the doctor took a step forward, so did Clark—and his step crushed the floor.

Dr. Klein dropped the knife and shouted in excitement. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it?!" He ran back to his desk and scribbled something on paper. "Ms. Lane, come here."

"No." Clark grabbed her arm to keep her back.

His grip was like bone crushing. A cry of pain echoed through the warehouse.

He instantly let go and stumbled back a step, as if realizing what he'd done. "Oh god, Lois, I'm sorry. Let me see."

In the next moment, he eased her arm free from where she clutched it to her side, his skin just as soft as hers. A dark bruise in the outline of a handprint began to form where her forearm throbbed.

His eyes focused on the injury and then turned a glowing blue.

Stumbling back in fright, she clutched the throbbing appendage to her side. "What...?"

The glow disappeared and he looked up with normal eyes. "It's alright. I didn't think. Lois, I have x-ray vision."

Dr. Klein tossed a pad of paper toward her. "I wasn't going to hurt you. Ms. Lane, I need you to read this and not say anything to Clark yet."

She picked it up.

 _He grows stronger to protect you. And weaker when attracted to you—I suspect so as not to harm you. I theorize that kissing him will make him as fragile as you or I._

Crumpling up the paper, she dropped it on the floor. And marched down the stairs.

"Lois, wait!" A gust of wind came from behind and his hand brushed her shoulder as he pounded down the steps behind her. "Let him check your arm to make sure it's not fractured—"

Rage surged over this entire asinine experiment. Whirling around on the bottom step, she thrust a finger toward the stairs. "He's experimenting, more excited about a scientific discovery to sell to the latest freak show!" The rest of the words died as horror struck at what had just been said.

Clark paled and dropped his eyes to the floor. His bare chest stilled, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Stunned silence lasted several moments. "I'll take you home," he breathed and handed over her coat. Then he brushed past, clearly struggling to hide the hurt.

Horror clutched as she stared after him. How to even begin to apologize?

He wore a shirt and coat and was already inside the car, with the heater blowing, when she came out.

"Clark, that didn't come out right. There are some very sick people on the black market who would pay a lot of money to dissect you to figure out how to get abilities like yours. I don't know what you aren't telling me, but there's something missing to the story. You aren't obligated to tell me anything, but I am not participating in whatever he wants to do to you."

He held the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. "I didn't mean to to get you messed up in anything, or hurt your arm." Shame vibrated from him. Then he put the truck in gear.

Setting her hand over his on the shifter, she swallowed down the shame. "I'm sorry. Talk to me." His hand didn't soften under hers.

His hand pulled free and choked the steering wheel. "About what? That I'm more of a freak than you realized? That I have some kind of psycho reaction to you? That I could crush you without even meaning to?" The steering wheel groaned under his grip as it began to bend. He ran a hand over his face and drew a shaky breath. "That for an instant you were completely terrified of me?" Tears shimmered in those blue eyes that turned to her.

Her reaction couldn't possibly upset him so much—he practically hated her guts. But somehow, it'd hurt him...a lot.

"For one," she said softly, "you cannot blame me for getting scared of glowing eyes without having any warning. For another, I don't think you're a freak. You can do these things that no one understands or can do, and I get that it makes a very lonely life. But, I gave you my word that I'm not going to write a story, so I need you to trust me before you distrust me, and to stop lashing out."

He looked away, as if that last one was hard to accept. "Lois?" he whispered, "I've never been sick or hurt—ever. I'm really freaked out why I'm reacting to you. It was probably inappropriate to bring you. The doctor needed you along, and I felt better having you here. I apologize—"

Oh goodness, he was just a big softie underneath. Her heart went out to him. "Clark, it's alright to be human and need someone. This is a lot to deal with by yourself."

Holding a hand to his forehead, he stared out the front window. His voice shook. "I shouldn't have brought you. I didn't mean to freak you out—"

"Hey." She reached over and cupped his far cheek to guide his eyes to hers.

His hand fell to cup over hers, and tortured eyes searched her face. "I don't understand why you aren't repulsed or afraid of me." His cheek and hand began to soften.

Those words caused a pang in her chest. Those blue eyes held more gentleness than he'd let shine through before. "Because I think underneath the aloof exterior is a kind man who, when he finds his way, will be a great man."

A soft smile touched his lips. "You're far crazier than you're reputed to be. Thank you, Lois. It's been a very long time since someone hasn't run." His flesh grew as soft as it should be. Clearing his throat, he pulled back and eased her hand away.

"May I ask if it hurts when I touch?"

He shook his head. "It tingles slightly, but it doesn't hurt." Those blue eyes held hers. "May I check your arm? Dr. Klein said it's no more radiation than an x-ray machine. It's so targeted that you don't need lead on."

Slipping off the coat, she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal the red and purple handprint.

Shame crossed his face as he gently held her arm in front of himself. His eyes glowed for a moment. "I don't see any fractures." Then his eyes returned to normal and he looked at her. "Is it terribly painful?"

"It just aches like a bruise now. Thank you." She tugged her arm away and put the coat back on.

"You're not good at lying either." Guilt filled his gaze. "Do you need ice?"

"No." She sat back in the seat and stared out the front window. He had a right to know what the doctor said about the cause of his reactions. "Clark?"

"Hm?"

"When Dr. Klein picked up the scalpel, did you physically feel different?" Then she looked to him.

A frown wrinkled his brow. "The biggest adrenaline rush I've ever had, and my muscles felt tight. Why?"

"Your muscles grew a bit but went back to normal after he wasn't a threat. The note he passed me said he thinks your skin softens because of this strange notion he has that you're attracted to me, and that you got really strong to protect me." With a shake of her head, she cracked a smile and glanced at him. "I think you need a better doctor."

Silence. His gaze didn't waiver. "What if his theory isn't off?"

She laughed, ignoring the butterflies in her belly. "I irritate you, and we'd clearly drive each other insane." The smile faded when he simply held her eyes, that look so intimate and gentle.

In the next instant, she leaned over the seat and held his face in her hands, kissing him.

He tasted of sugar and cinnamon, and those strong arms pulled her across the seat into his lap. His body melted from hard as rock to firm muscles of a man very well sculpted. This felt so right and yet made no sense. There'd never been this kind of attraction—or irritation—with a man.

A throaty sigh vibrated deep in his chest, fueling desire. He was so sexy and kind and—

He jerked back, breaking the kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open.

His wide eyes stared in shock. "I'm sorry." He moved to lift her off, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

She smiled at his naïve, endearing nature. "It's not anything I objected to. I'm not doing a story, so there are no ethical boundaries professionally." Then the smile faded. "Unless you object?"

"No." His cheeks burned brighter and a shyness flooded his eyes.

"You haven't kissed before, have you?"

"Of course I have." He scoffed and lifted her into the passenger seat.

Then it dawned—his sigh had startled himself. But, as he began to pull away from setting her down, his eyes locked on her lips.

His hot mouth pressed against hers, the passion lighting a fire unlike ever felt before. Barely even registering the kiss, he was gone and replaced with a gust of cold air.

Opening her eyes, she frowned. The man paced outside. "Clark?" She opened the door and got out. When she walked around the truck and touched his shoulder, he turned.

Her heart shot into her throat—his eyes were dilated to completely black.

"Lois? Everything's really bright and blurry." A slight quiver leaked into his voice.

"I'm really freaked out about Dr. Klein and his methods, but I think you really need a doctor." Grabbing his hand, she led him back inside.

By the time Dr. Klein helped get him to the exam table, Clark's eyes looked normal. His flesh, however, remained pliable.

"Are you certain?" Poor Clark's brow knit tight a few minutes later, and stress oozed from him.

She nodded. "A blood draw for me doesn't hurt as much as it does for you. It might help figure out why you're having these reactions."

The moment Dr. Klein inserted the needle in her arm, Clark's nose began to twitch and sniffle.

"Clark, what's wrong?" The doctor glanced to where Clark hovered.

"The scent of her blood is strong." The sleeves of his shirt strained as his muscles began to bulge.

"I think you're reacting to her being harmed. Touch her hand." Dr. Klein withdrew the needle, handed over a gauze to stop the bleeding, and then hurried to the microscope with the sample.

Clark's eyes zeroed in on where she held the gauze on her arm, and he set a hand on her knee. The t-shirt didn't strain as hard to contain him as it did a moment ago. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine." Keeping a light tone would help him calm down. "Are _you_?"

He nodded.

"Extraordinary," Dr. Klein breathed at the microscope, breaking the silence. "I mixed your blood. Yours is surrounding hers and now beginning to attach. It's helping keep hers oxygenated." Dr. Klein turned and stared at Clark with wide eyes. "Yours is helping hers survive."

She snorted. "That's impossible."

"Clark, you truly may be another species and your body has chosen her as a mate." The doctor's eyes widened in excitement about this cockamamie theory.

Clark paled sheet white. He jerked his hand away and took a step back...almost like he credited the doctor's stupid idea.

It was laughable, except for how serious they both looked. "Clark? What haven't you told me?" she demanded.

"It would explain so much," the doctor continued, "if she—"

"Stop," Clark whispered. In that one word, his voice trembled so hard.

Something about this theory struck close to some other detail—enough that it had Clark terrified. She stood and walked over. His hand felt ice cold. "It's alright."

But he ripped his hand away when his flesh began to soften, as if afraid of his own body. He blinked hard like tears threatened. "Get in the car." He practically choked on the words as his chest heaved in a panic.

* * *

Knuckles ached from squeezing the steering wheel so hard. It'd been twenty minutes of silence as he stared out his passenger window on the way to his house. "Clark, I don't know the details he speaks of, but for the heck of it let's say his theory that you're from another planet—"

"An alien. A freaking alien who apparently wants to 'f' you," he snapped and propped his elbow on the window sill, covering his mouth, as if the words made him ill.

An alien—of all the crazy options, the doctor chose alien. "Not how I would put it..."

"Oh, really? How can you possibly phrase that in a good way? Bad enough I was a freak, but now I might shoot a tentacle out of my mouth or make my spawn burst out of your guts," he spat in self-loathing.

Scrunching up her nose, she gave him a look. "This isn't Alien 2. It's probably a rare DNA mutation he just doesn't know about. So your senses are heightened and you're strong." She shrugged. "Those are, like, super powers and kinda cool."

"Yeah? Maybe I get stronger when you're threatened because then I rip off the person's head and eat their guts through their neck."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "Aren't you a ray of sunshine?"

"Why aren't you scared?!" He flung his hands out. "What if I go batshit if I'm around you too long and assault you? We don't know what I'm capable of!"

"You're right—you've been a menace the past twenty-nine years." This idiotic theory had him way too distraught. Pulling the truck over, she turned to him.

"My eyes glow and skin changes density—that's a mutation?!" His eyebrows shot up.

Running a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath helped to remain patient. "I don't know, maybe your mom was exposed to radiation during pregnancy. I highly doubt she was abducted and impregnated by aliens."

Somehow that had been the wrong thing to say.

He turned his head to look out his window. The absolute silence carried a wave of grief and humiliation.

"Clark, why are you giving this so much credibility?"

"I'm adopted," he whispered. "They found me wandering their cornfields when I was a toddler. The next morning, Dad found this vesicle crashed in their field. It had a baby blanket in it that I seemed to recognize. They took me to a pediatrician and told him they'd adopted. He didn't find anything wrong with me—apparently my skin didn't start getting harder until a couple years later. My parents never called the cops because they were worried I'd be taken to a lab. Dad was never able to get it to turn on to know for certain how it worked." Then he looked at her, with tears shimmering in his eyes. "It's not impossible that I'm an alien."

It hurt to see him so lost and heartbroken that he might be more of an anomaly than everyone had ever spurned him for. Taking his hand, she held his eyes. "Let's say for a second that he's right. You'd very clearly have a large genetic makeup identical to people here. So what if there are a few genetic differences that make you a little different."

His skin began to soften. It seemed to disgust him, and he pulled his hand away.

"Some people carry _Staph_ or other bacteria, or maybe _I_ have some kind of skin mutation that your body senses. Maybe you don't get all the credit." She cracked a smile.

His eyes dropped to her hands, as if he ached to be touched, to be normal. A tear rolled down his cheek, carrying as much pain as if it was a knife trailing down her own heart.

"Clark, it's going to be okay."

"Goodbye, Lois," he breathed. He was suddenly gone, leaving only the corn dancing in a gust of wind.

* * *

Over an hour later, the taxi pulled up to his parents' house. A huge pile of firewood was stacked against the house that hadn't been there earlier.

Martha came out on the porch in a coat as the taxi pulled away. "Heavens, I was about to send Jonathan out to find you. Clark got back an hour ago, chopped wood like the Devil, and has been in his room since."

"I haven't driven stick before and couldn't get the truck to start up again." She glared up at the second story of the house and raised her voice to be sure he'd hear. "Your son decided to abandon me on the road!"

A split second later, the front screen door slammed open, and Clark marched out in bare feet and no coat. He trudged right through the snow, as if it didn't phase him. "Are you seriously stupid enough to come back?!" Neck veins bulged with his roar, and rage danced in his eyes.

"It's a hair-brained _theory_!" Throwing up her arms wasn't as satisfactory as knocking sense into him would've been. "You're stupid enough to believe it means you're some kind of threat!"

"You're too damn stubborn for your own good!" He thrust a finger at her and came to a halt an arm's length away. "I've heard about the trouble you get into chasing stories! This is one you aren't finishing!"

"I told you I'm not doing a story! God, you're an idiot to think I'm scared of you!"

"You damn well should be!"

Rolling her eyes in irritation, getting away from him and into the warm house was the only way to end this fight. Brushing past him was like brushing against a building, and pain jarred through her shoulder. "Ow!" She glared up at him. "You could at least pretend to give me the satisfaction of pushing you!"

His jaw muscle flexed and his eyes darted down to her feet. Then he jerked her up into his arms and stormed toward the house.

"What are you doing?! I didn't hurt my foot, you hurt my shoulder!" She pushed on his chest, so angry at him for his bullheadedness that the urge to scream rose.

The man set her down. "Yes, God forbid The Great Lois Lane needs help."

Her jaw dropped. "You don't get to be angry! You left me on the side of the road knowing I can't drive a stick!" Flinging her arms down was perhaps a bit childish, but it felt good to get some of this anger out.

His hands planted on his hips, and those black eyebrows shot up. "You were driving just fine!"

"After you moved the stick when needed to shift gears to get us up to speed!"

"Oh." He seemed to have forgotten that part. "Well, you could've yelled for me! I would've heard!"

"Well I'm yelling now! Just because you're stronger and faster doesn't mean you get to boss me around!"

"You're bossy enough for the both of us!" His mouth crushed down on hers in the next instant.

He tasted so wonderful, and his softening warmth was such a stark contrast to the cold winter air. An arm wrapped around his neck and the other around his muscled back. When a soft sigh escaped her, he deepened the kiss toward Heaven.

When he finally lifted his head, the world spun. Clinging to his upper arms steadied the earth.

"What were we fighting about?" His voice came out soft and husky.

"I don't know." She leaned her forehead against his chest.

"You're dizzy." A frowned tinted his voice and his arms held her tighter to his chest.

"That tends to happen when suddenly kissed." A small smile tugged.

"That doesn't sound pleasant."

A soft laugh bubbled up.

"Oh no." One arm fell from around her.

Looking up at him, her eyes followed his gaze to the porch. Martha and Jonathan stood there, concern written all over their faces.

* * *

"I understand your concerns with his secrets, and my job putting me in the spotlight." A glance at Clark sitting on the other end of the sofa revealed him still silent and withdrawn in shame. "But, with all due respect, you cannot tell him that his reactions might be dangerous to me, Jonathan."

"What he means is it isn't good for either of you. We don't know what's going on. Just, please use your heads." Martha had a mother's worry in her eyes. "You're a sweet girl, Lois, and I've never seen you come out of your shell like you do with her, Clark. Take things very slow." She smiled and stood. "You two talk."

Her cell rang as Martha walked out. "Hang on, Clark, it's my boss." Hitting the Accept button, she stole another glance at Clark's profile. "Hi, Perry."

"Lois, where the Samhill are you? It's Wednesday, and I haven't heard from you all week! Tell me you have a big story because that's the only excuse I wanna hear."

Another glance at Clark, who watched, obviously able to hear the conversation. "No, I had an accident and got a bad concussion."

"What? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I meant to call today. I'll be back tomorrow."

"You take the week off if you need. Don't go pushing it."

"I'll be there. Thanks, Perry." She hung up.

"Thank you for keeping my secret." He stared down at his hands.

"I'm not going to tell anyone." What had the town done to him? He didn't seem like a man easily beaten down. Scooting closer to sit beside him seemed so natural. How needed a someone besides his parents who saw the strength buried inside.

He stood and turned, not quite meeting her eyes. "You have a life and a hell of a career. I'm not gonna mess that up."

"What are you talking about?" A smile crept up—a smile stemming from nervous dread. This sounded like a goodbye.

Those blue eyes filled with sadness and loneliness, only deeper than just a few days ago. "I'm a huge complication, and I might not even be safe for you."

"Clark." Shooting to her feet, her hand reached for him.

But he took a step back. "This was never going to go anywhere."

An ache started from deep inside. "I know it doesn't make sense on paper and it's only been a few days, but there's a draw to you I've never felt. You're upset and scared from the appointment—"

"It's in your blood to be drawn to a story."

The words died on her lips. Those words stung so hard that tears welled. "That's not what I mean. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel it."

His beautiful blue eyes rose to hers, void of emotion. "It's physical attraction that I've just never felt until now. That's all. Go home, Lois."

"Clark, Dr. Klein and your dad freaked you out. I'm not scared of you." Catching his hand to prove the point, her heart began to pound when he remained hard. "You kissed me like that outside five minutes ago, but now you hate me? I don't believe it."

He pulled free. "It doesn't take long to come to one's senses, Ms. Lane. You're a complication. I don't want it." Then he turned and headed up the stairs.

It wasn't logical to hurt this much after knowing him only a few days. There had been a glimpse of something in the evenings just sitting with him watching TV in companionable silence and holding him as he'd carried her up the stairs...life could be just as simple in fifty years, with days full of deep friendship and night filled with butterflies in the stomach. He didn't even balk at her stubborn independence, but challenged it to grow stronger. But, she wasn't what he wanted.

The words whispered, unwilling to trust the tears to hold back if the words were spoken louder. A tear slid down, but it was welcomed pain if it meant he wouldn't have to bear it. "I'm glad that for once, it wasn't you who was unwanted." Nothing had ever been meant more.

He slammed to a halt on the steps, and he turned slowly. His complexion paled, as if those words raddled him to the core.

Heading for the door before he saw the tears, she grabbed her coat and purse. And waited one second to see if he'd stop her—if maybe he'd spoken out of fear. But he didn't come and didn't speak. It was hard to hold back the tears as her face crumpled. "Goodbye, Mr. Kent," she breathed and walked out.

It was impossible to look away from the door as the keys slid into the ignition of her car. He'd come out at any moment. Even rolling down the long driveway to the road, her eyes kept checking the rearview mirror. The door still didn't open.

He wasn't going to come.

Willing the odometer to go faster, it almost hit two miles from his house. Surely he couldn't hear that far. Flipping on the radio almost full volume, the tears burst free.

* * *

Walking into Perry's office tweny-seven days later, her heart stopped.

Clark sat across from his desk in a suit and thick black-rimmed glasses.

"Lois, this is Clark Kent, the new..."

Perry's words faded as the room dipped. Clark was supposed to be a long-forgotten heartbreak not cried over anymore. Or, maybe not more than a couple times a week. He wasn't supposed to be here. Work was her sanctuary away from his memory! "What are you doing here?"

He shot up and reached for her, his eyes wide like maybe she looked as white as she felt.

"Do you two know each other?" Perry's voice cut on.

Stepping back from him, her head whipped around to Perry. "No! What's he doing here?!"

"He's the new reporter. Lois, are you alright?" Perry frowned.

Oh god, please be a nightmare. "Perry, you can't just hire any hick off the streets! This is a real job with real stories and real reporters!"

"Hey, I hear ya. Give the kid a chance. I think he has potential, which is why I partnered him with you to learn the ropes."

"What?!" The shriek must've been too loud because everyone outside of Perry's office turned and looked.

"Lois, you're the best I've got—"

She pointed a finger at Perry. "Which is why I get the best stories. Give the rookie to someone else! Don't waste my time when I could be writing another Pulitzer!"

"Sure think highly of yourself," Clark coughed under his breath.

"Oh, shut up. You just wish you had my talent." Throwing him a look, her attention returned to Perry.

"One week. Give him a try for a week. He has an impressive portfolio—"

"I don't care if he's interviewed God! After a week, I get to push him off onto someone else and first dibs on the exclusive with the new U.S. President."

Perry heaved a sigh and sat back in his leather chair. "I told you that's going to Barbara Walters."

"Pull strings. Or I walk for _The New York Times_ job I was offered." Perry didn't need to know it was a bluff. Folding her arms helped make it look like a real threat.

Clark cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Chief, but I think she's bluffing. I heard she was offered that position over two months ago."

Her jaw dropped. "You're not part of this conversation!"

He grinned and sat down. "Yes, ma'm."

"Don't 'ma'm' me! I'm not old! And get that grin off your face—you look like an idiot." When she huffed and turned, Perrs wore a smile.

"What?"

"I think a rookie will be good for you. I know you're bored, Lois, and I'm already paying you more than I technically can afford. You're good, but you're not so good that it's worth the whole newspaper going under."

Her back shot ramrod straight. When Clark smothered a smile behind his hand, anger boiled over. Walking out and slamming the door helped—a little.

Clark came out a minute later, adjusting his tie. "Might be good to have someone who doesn't bow down to you like a princess." He winked.

Slamming her hands down on the desk, she dropped into the chair. He had no right to come waltzing in and poke fun to boot! "You don't wink at me, look at me, or speak to me, understood? Go away to your desk."

When he sat down at an empty desk three feet away, her jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope." He smiled and reclined in the chair with his hands behind his head. "The chief said the only way to learn is to stick with you."

Teeth ground. This couldn't be happening. "Fine, country boy, but I'm the boss. You do what I say. I ask the questions, and you take notes, got it? You drive to the interview I have with the Mayor and keep quiet." She stood and grabbed her coat.

"Shall I fetch the limo or chariot?" He stood and put on his coat, a twinkle in his eye revealing that he was teasing.

Just snatch the laptop and go. "You're a damn ass." The words muttered for his ears only on the way past.

He darted into the elevator with her at the last minute. When the doors closed, he remained silent until the other person inside got off on the next floor. "Lois, I tried calling you a few days later."

"I blocked your number." When she pulled on the coat, he held it to make it easier. "Don't help! You stalked me and know where I live, if you actually wanted to talk. I don't have anything to say to you, though."

"I didn't want to come across as creepy."

"Oh, so getting a job at my work is less creepy?" A dirty look didn't phase him.

"I've interviewed at other places. I got an apartment in the city. I think getting out on my own instead of hiding is gonna be good."

Panic for him exploded. "Are you stupid?! You can't hide your...abilities!...in the city!"

"I'm tired of hiding. And you need someone with more confidence." He shrugged.

That sounded like a loaded question waiting that would be better to not know the answer to. The doors opened. "Dammit, I forgot my purse!" She hit the button to go back upstairs.

"Ma'm." He held it up by the strap.

"Call me 'ma'm' again, and you'll be the next story on the news tonight." The words snapped out and the purse yanked out of his hands. Trying to stop the doors from shutting proved pointless.

His chuckle filled the air as the doors closed.

"You could've stopped them!" She fell back against the wall in a fit. This wasn't happening.

"Can't. Got to appear normal." The idiot grinned. "Besides, we have time now for me to say I missed you."

Setting a hand on her hip, she turned to him and leaned a hand on the rail. "Listen, bucco, this is a real job. I don't mix business with pleasure. If you're not here to work, stop wasting my time."

He folded his hands in front of him. "Yes, Ms. Lane." The corner of his mouth twitched.

"I see that smirk. You can write up a version of the story to give to Perry. I'll write up mine, which is the one that'll be published. When he finishes editing yours, I'll give you pointers for writing at a real newspaper."

A twinkle in his eye answered.

* * *

Humiliation burned walking out of Perry's office that evening. It was best to grab to things from the desk and get home before he gloated.

"Lois, I'm sorry. I didn't dream that he'd take my version—" Clark swiped his coat and followed through the mostly empty office.

"It's fine. You could've said you'd worked at _The New York Times_." It was utterly humiliating to have Perry tell Clark to give _her_ some pointers.

"It was just for a year right after college. I had different training than you, that's all—"

"Okay, Harvard boy, I get it." Who would've thought Country Boy had graduated at the top of his Harvard class in journalism? She darted into the elevator.

"Lois, you've won a Pulitzer. There's no reason to feel threatened—"

Oh, he did _not_ just go there. "I'm not threatened! You got your story in the paper your first day back into journalism. I'm happy for you. It's been a long day. I don't feel like beating this like a dead horse!"

He hit the button and the doors closed. "Alright. I just think how Perry said it came across as more degrading than he meant. He's hard on you because you're good."

Right. Country Boy probably found this highly amusing. "Clark, just please." She rubbed her throbbing temples. Blessed silence.

The doors opened and he took a quick step in the lobby to open the front door for her.

Her eyes flew to him and feet screeched to a halt. "Stop opening doors."

He frowned. "It's manners."

"And you're tagging along. We aren't partners, and there is no gender distinction here, got it?" Her eyebrows rose to make the point.

Sadness clouded his eyes, possibly for the first time all day. "Are you going to be angry with me forever?"

"Think you're a Casanova, don't you? That happened a month ago, maybe two...I don't remember." She started walking down the sidewalk. "What's done is done. This works out well because there's no chance of an office romance, which is so unprofessional anyways. You don't like me, I don't like you, so we'll end up being competitive and make each other better journalists."

He measured his steps to hers. "You don't like me?" He sounded surprised. "I never said I don't like you."

"Please, you made it abundantly clear that night. We're both adults, so we can say it." Skidding to a halt made him stop too. "Are you going home?"

"I will after I walk you home."

"Uh, I'm a big girl."

He scowled. "It's dark and the city. It's not safe." When she opened her mouth, he set a finger to her lips. "This isn't negotiable."

His skin softened against her lips, slamming up unwanted memories. She jerked her head back and started walking faster. Tears welled. He wasn't supposed to see her cry over him, much less twenty-seven days later.

"Lois—"

"I have a date tonight, I gotta get home." That lie blurted out of nowhere, and she kept her head down. His shoes appeared to the left.

"A date?" He sounded...hurt.

The steps of her townhouse/apartment building came into view around the corner. "This is me. See you tomorrow!" The words tossed over her shoulder in a hurry to get inside before he followed.

Darting up the steps and into her apartment, she locked the door and sank against it. He'd tried so hard to bring up her spirits today. He was funny and witty and sweet. Clark had more confidence and seemed happier than last time. City life seemed to agree with him, and he was an amazing writer. He was perfect...and she just a complication he didn't want. The sobs finally came from the heartache that had been building all day.


	4. Chapter 4

He stood at the bottom of the apartment steps the next morning.

Trotting down, a silent prayer went up that the makeup hid the puffy eyes as well in daylight as it had appeared to when applying it in the bathroom. "What are you doing here?"

"Good morning. I figured I'd walk with you since you're on my way to work." He seemed quiet and somewhat withdrawn, like back in Kansas. Without a word, he fell into step.

It was unnerving how apparent his emotions seemed this morning. He walked with his hands behind his back and looked at the sidewalk. Yesterday it would've been easy to mistake it for pouting, but this morning he clearly was deep in thought. If he leaned over a few inches, his arm would brush her shoulder—too close to be a stranger but too far for more than a friend. How utterly complicated he seemed for a simple country boy.

"Was there really a date?" he blurted, with concern softening his voice.

His gaze could be seen from the corner of her eye. Clearing her throat, her eyes focused forward but couldn't ignore noticing him. He stared. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know much about women, but it doesn't seem like they'd cry before a date."

Guilt reared its head, and her cheeks burned. Lies had been told before to get past security or information for stories, but...it seemed so wrong to lie to Clark, even a little white lie. "You were supposed to be headed home."

"I was." Then he lowered his voice while passing people on the sidewalk. "I seem to be able to hear you for miles." He let that sink in for a moment. "Yes, I heard you crying in the car when you left that night."

Swallowing pride, she glanced up at him and found his brow knit with worry. He'd heard that night and hadn't followed, but he seemed worried. This made no sense. "I didn't have a date. I don't know why I blurted that."

He caught her by the elbow and guided to the edge of the sidewalk near an alley. Then he turned and faced her when she leaned back against the building, his voice low for private conversation. "Lois, I didn't realize how much I would upset you. I'm really sorry I was such a jerk that night. I've done a lot of thinking since then and realized I need to change some things. I'll quit if this is too much for you."

"Quit the job?" Her eyebrows shot up.

He nodded, only concern reflecting in his eyes.

That was a generous offer—one that was too personal for him to make. "I can't tell you to quit a job. We're both adults and can deal with working at the same place." Each minute grew harder and harder than yesterday to put up a tough front.

"I'm not asking you to tell me to quit. I'm asking if this is going to make you miserable. I can ask Perry today for a new partner, but I realize even that might be too close for comfort." He leaned a hand on the building to the left of her head in such a casual manner.

The country boy probably didn't realize the intimacy of this pose, yet it felt right and comfortable, despite the uncomfortable topic. It was impossible to be angry with him when he was being so open and genuine. Her heart sped up, wishing for nothing more than to not be at odds with him. Somehow, life seemed incomplete without him in it. Then it dawned—that's why the tears still came at night.

He must've mistook the reaction because his eyes darted down toward her heart and he straightened, taking a small step back.

"You can't do that." The words came out soft and unsure, never having been this vulnerable with anyone.

His brow furrowed in question.

"You can't throw someone out of your life and then walk back into theirs. I know it was going way too fast and you have things to deal with and we don't really know each other..." She searched his eyes. "I'm really confused and don't even know if you know what you want—you acted like you hated me that night and now you're being sweet and—" Cutting herself off before saying too much, she bit her lip. "I don't know why you're back."

A deep sigh escaped him and he stared out at the sidewalk for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

It gave ample time to admire his strong jawline and the gentleness that laid beneath his masculine features. The past month, he seemed to have found some of the strength that hid inside. This was the side of him that would make him a strong, kind man capable of anything.

Then those blue eyes shifted to her and that confidence disappeared. He stuffed his fingers in his pockets, just like that country boy back in Kansas. "First, I never hated you. I was really freaked out by what the doctor said that day, and I was scared if I'd..." He cheeks turned red in e mbarrassment and he dropped his voice even further. "If I'd go into some kind of freak frenzy and assault you."

She blinked.

"I know, it sounds crazy, but we didn't know what was going on." He ran a hand through his black hair and the words rushed out in distress. "I wanted you to not come back because I feared that I'd somehow hurt you. The doctor did more tests using your blood, and it doesn't seem possible for me to do more than maybe bruise your arm."

Before asking what tests he'd subjected himself to in order to know that, he continued.

"Second, I realized that I need to get out and start living my own life instead of hiding in my parents' house. I'm not going to come to terms with myself or build a life if I'm shoving people away. There are only certain people who can know things about me, but it doesn't mean others can't be friends as well. Third, I realized that I lost someone special." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and took hers, a little cautious like he half expected rejection. When she didn't pull away, his confidence seemed to grow. "I don't know if it's meant to be friendship or something more, but there was a void after you left that I'd never even realized was there. I'll respect any boundaries you put on me—I just hope I can have a place somewhere in your life, even if it's only work partners."

That confession and total honesty came as a surprise. She gave a slow nod. "Work partners." Starting there would be a smart place. If things grew into anything else, they would happen in their own time. She turned her hand in his for a handshake.

His smile almost put the sun to shame. "Work partners." It disappeared just as quickly and he cocked his head, his eyes searching the shadows of the alley.

A footstep and then a gust of wind. Clark appeared on the other side of the dumpster holding a man by the neck up against the building. He yanked a gun from the man's hand with perhaps excessive force against a regular human.

"It's not loaded," the man gasped and clawed at Clark's hand. "Was just gonna see if you had money."

Clark pulled open the magazine. "It's loaded. Lois, call the cops. He smells of drugs and was going to mug us."

"I wasn't—" the man protested.

"Shut up. You don't point a loaded gun at people! Is that how your mother raised you?!" Clark looked disgusted, and his grip made the man wheeze.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. "Clark, calm down so you don't kill him."

The man coughed as the grip loosened.

* * *

"He moved too fast to see!" the man tried to tell the cops as he was arrested minutes later.

"He's high on drugs, Ben," she cut in and said to the cop taking notes.

"Lois, is that the full story?" The cop looked exasperated. "I swear, whenever something happens, you're involved somehow."

"Ben, this is my new partner, Clark. He can verify the story." Giving the cop an innocent look was enough for him to just give a skeptical look and take the perpetrator away.

Once the police pulled away, Clark burst out laughing. "I have a feeling it's going to be very interesting working with you, Lois."

"You could come in handy—I won't have to figure out a way to call police for help when I'm investigating stories." She smiled at him and started walking.

His head whipped around as he walked beside her. "I'm not so sure I want to know what trouble you got yourself into before I came along."

"Probably not."

Her cell rang, so she answered. "Hello?"

"Lois, it's Perry. I'm just walking into the office. Did you hear the news?"

"No, what is it?"

She stopped in her tracks.

Clark's jerk on the arm almost made her fall against him, just as a bicyclist sailed past where she'd been standing.

"There's been a bomb threat at Town Hall. You and Kent get over there."

"On it." She hung up and turned to Clark.

"I heard," he drawled, not looking too pleased. "I'd reconsider this job if I trusted you to not get yourself killed." With a sigh, he hailed a cab.

She frowned as the first one in sight pulled over. "I never get a cab right away."

"Because you're not tall enough to stick out, city girl." With a flash of a smile, he opened the taxi door and waited.

When an eyebrow cocked at him, he rolled his eyes.

"I forgot, I'm supposed to be a chauvinistic ass." Clark crammed his long legs in and slid across the seat to make room.

"Fine. Open doors sometimes."

An irritated sigh filled the cab.

She slid in and told the driver, "Town Hall, please."

The police had Town Hall roped off blocks away, the streets filled with dozens of people charging in the opposite direction.

"Pull over. We'll walk." She handed the driver money and jumped out.

Something about a jogger who ran past without a shirt stopped her in her tracks. He didn't seem the least disturbed by the chaos and jogged at a normal speed. Odd. Turning, her eyes followed him for a minute.

"Could you ogle anymore obviously?" Clark growled, his voice coming from immediately behind.

Something about the jogger made her reporter's nose twitch. Without waiting for Clark to follow, she started trailing the jogger through the crowds. "He's got big muscles." The words muttered absently.

"Are you serious? I can lift a truck!"

A smile tugged as Clark's protests sank in. "Take off your shirt and we'll compare who has bigger muscles."

He cocked an eyebrow in irritation, following hot on her heels.

"Oh, don't tell me you're jealous."

Clark ignored that comment. "Why are we going this way? Town hall is behind us."

"Do you have _any_ reporter instincts?" She pushed through the crowd to keep the jogger in sight. "He's the bomber."

"What?"

"Oh come on, country boy, everyone's in a panic but him." A glance at Clark revealed a surprised expression.

His eyes narrowed. "Get around the block away from debris so you don't get hit if there's an explosion. I'll follow him."

"And what, just buzz after him with a hundred witnesses around? Besides, I'm not missing a bust like this."

The jogger cut across the street through abandoned cars.

Veering off, she glanced behind when Clark didn't answer. He was gone. Looking ahead to the jogger, she sighed in exasperation as a blur and gust of wind whipped through the street several yards ahead. The jogger disappeared in the blink of an eye. "Clark, you idiot," she muttered and broke into a run.

Clark had the man in an alley across the street. In all the chaos, no one noticed. The jogger slumped in an unconscious heap next to a dumpster, and Clark stood beside him, fiddling with some kind of remote.

"What did you do?! Dammit, Clark, you can't go making yourself obvious!" She knelt to feel the man's pulse.

"Settle down. I flicked my finger against his head. He's got a minor concussion. Do you know anything about dismantling bombs?"

"Uh, no. Pick him up. We'll take him to the cops, and I'll figure out some kind of story about how we got him."

Clark just gave a dry look. "Yeah, that's not conspicuous at all." His hand wrapped around the thick metal device. It made a popping and groaning sound. He crushed it like a flower.

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, and handing them a crushed bomb detonator is better? You're like a child running around. You're going to get caught and sent to a lab for experimentation."

He heaved an irritated sigh. "It's disabled, so all the police have to do is disarm the bomb. We say we saw him fall and hit his head. See, he has a bump where I flicked him. Then we say a car ran over this." Then he did a stupid-sounding hick slur, "We ya'll got street smarts down in Kansas, we does."

Smothering a smile, she stood. "Alright, super man, pick him up and let's go."

Clark lifted the man with one arm and slung him over his shoulder like a sac of air. "Pretty good for my first day in the field, huh?" A grin broke free. "You're not gonna want a new partner by the end of the week, Lois."

No need to fluff his ego and admit she already didn't.

* * *

At the end of the workday after making it on the news for bringing in the bomber trying to assassinate the mayor, kicking off shoes and propping up bare feet on the desk felt marvellous. "Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have worn heels today."

Clark sat back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, looking none the worse for wear. "It was a good day. We might've saved dozens of lives."

"And killed my feet in the process."

He smiled. "I can carry you home."

"I'm too sore to move. I'm just going to sit here for awhile. Go home."

"But it's dark - "

Dropping her head back, she groaned. "I don't need babysitting. I can walk home by myself."

"Nope."

"Did you finish the story?"

"Yep. Sent it to Perry a half hour ago."

She frowned and lifted her head. "I gave a draft to you a half hour ago."

The idiot grinned. "I can type fast."

Dropping her feet, she sat up and pointed a finger at him. "If you get caught, I'm not busting you out of a government lab."

His smile died and he dropped his arms to sit up. The man fingered a pencil on his desk and grew silent. "Lois? When Dr. Klein got my blood when you were along, he did a DNA test."

She lowered her hand. It must be bad news for him to seem this upset.

Those blue eyes rose to meet her gaze. "It's only a ninety-eight percent match to human DNA."

"Well, maybe it was a faulty result - "

"He ran it three times on different machines. I have an extra chromosome that doesn't match. He even compared it to animals."

"Does he think it accounts for your abilities?" She got up and padded over to sit on the edge of his desk but didn't touch. Him having a physical reaction right now would just remind him that he's different.

The man nodded and looked at the pencil, so solemn.

She shrugged. "That's not such a big deal. There are other people who have an extra chromosome—Trisomy 21 and - "

"That's Down's Syndrome. People with an extra chromosome usually have disabilities, not freak capabilities." He sat back in his chair and met her eyes.

"Would you stop calling yourself a freak? So you have super capabilities. My capability is being a pain in the ass."

He cracked a smile at that, but it faded as he searched her eyes. "Does it weird you out?"

"I'm not sure why it should, but it seems to have you stressed."

"Because maybe he's right that I'm an alien."

She rolled her eyes. "Even so, it's not like you're going to abduct me into outer space and do experiments on me."

A scowl darkened his features. "That's not even funny."

"Oh, lighten up, country boy. Why the glasses? You can't possibly need them."

"Mom said they're obtrusive enough that people won't recognize me if someone from Kansas sees my picture in the paper—or on TV." He pushed them up in the middle like a dork.

"That's stupid. Who wouldn't recognize you just because of glasses?"

He shrugged. "For being a writer, you use 'stupid' a lot as a noun and adjective." The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Because people are stupid. I should've written novels so I can be antisocial."

The man burst out laughing. "Then you couldn't boss anyone around."

"Shut up." She hopped up. "Ow, my feet hurt." Holding out her arms to him, she said, "I accept your offer to carry me home. I'm tired."

He stood with a smile and swung her up in his arms. "Thank you, Lois."

She pointed for him to walk over so she could get her purse and coat from her desk. "For what?"

"For not being freaked out. You should be...but I'm glad you're not." He set her down and helped her on with the coat before putting his dress coat on.

"You know, you clean up pretty well for a country boy." She held up her arms for him to pick her up again.

"And you country up pretty well for a city girl." A smile straight from his heart lit up his eyes as he scooped her up.

* * *

On the way home, he stopped on the sidewalk and cocked his head. Then he looked all around, even up at the buildings.

"What?"

"There's a woman screaming. With all the city noise, I can't tell where it's coming from."

Listening intently, she frowned. "I don't hear it."

He set her down and shoved her purse and shoes at her. "I think she's being stabbed," he said in a panic. "Stay here. I'll be right back. I'm gonna run the block and see."

A gust of wind and he was gone.

The idiot was going to get caught by some maniac who'd sell him on the Black Market. Putting on her shoes, she glanced around and started walking toward home. Police sirens drew near and stopped on the block behind.

Another brisk breeze and he stood in her path with his hands on his hips. "I told you to stay."

"I assume that's where she was?" She pointed over her shoulder.

"Yeah. She'll need stitches on her leg, but he missed anything vital. I tied him up with lamp cords and dialed the police without saying anything. She'll be fine."

"And she didn't see you?"

"Nope. I ran fast so she wouldn't."

She whipped her purse at him instead of risking breaking a hand doing it herself. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you not have self-preservation instincts?! You're an imbecile." Then she swept past him.

"I wasn't going to let her die." He trotted to catch up and straightened his tie. "He would've killed her before the police arrived. And you're definitely not walking home alone down Murder Lane."

"It's probably a domestic situation—that's hardly dangerous to someone on the street."

"Unless if he shoots and the bullet goes out the window."

She stopped and leaned a hand on a stairway up to a building to take some weight off her sore feet. "Oh no, no, no. You're not my bodyguard. I'll have Perry reassign you if you're going to be treating me like a baby."

His eyes narrowed in a sarcastic squint and he put his hands on his hips. "What does your dad think of you living alone in the city? If I tell him you're on Murder Lane?" He raised his eyebrows.

Turning on her heel, she started marching home. "Go ahead. When you find him, tell him I said he can fall off a cliff."

Clark's footsteps stopped suddenly and then trotted until he appeared to her right. "Did he leave?"

"Yeah," she snorted. "When I was five he took off with a girlfriend and left my mom destitute raising two kids. No one's heard from him for almost twenty-five years."

"Oh. I'm sorry. If I ever see him, I can flick him in the head if you want."

He said it in a way that was meant to tempt a smile, and it did. "I'll consider it."

"But I'm serious that I don't like this neighborhood. I'm just a few blocks away. It seems like a better neighborhood."

A frown tugged. There weren't any good neighborhoods on this side of town. "Where?"

The man sheepishly pointed back the other way.

Stopping in her tracks, she crossed her arms over her chest. "And how is my apartment on your way home?"

He shrugged. "I can walk fast. It's no big deal to walk you."

Apartments on that side of town were expensive. Keeping the full salary that Perry paid would make it easy to buy a place uptown, but with Mom's health problems leaving her in the hospital a few times a year, half of her paychecks had to go to medical bills. Even Mom didn't know, being certain bills were directed to her apartment instead of Mom's.

"I've been here for a couple years. I'm fine, Clark."

Instead of an argument, he looked at her for a long minute before he nodded. The walk continued in strained silence.

"You can ask if you ever need anything, Lois."

Of course he saw through the lie.

"I don't mean for it to sound chauvinist."

With a sigh, she turned to him at the bottom of her steps. He misunderstood the silence. "I know. I dated a guy once, and he had a lot of money and I had a lot of money problems. He used it as a way to manipulate. I need to take care of myself."

He nodded. "Just know the offer is there if you need it. I wouldn't ask questions."

"Thank you."

"May I walk you inside to your apartment? I promise I won't come in. It's almost ten, and I'm on edge from that incident tonight."

He did seem a little tense from it, but that would mean him seeing the graffiti on the hall walls and then admitting to money problems and... She shook her head. "I'm okay. If you're that stressed, I can wave to you from inside."

Of course he nodded before the sentence even finished. "Goodnight, Lois."

"Goodnight, Clark." A real smile broke through. "You don't have to come every morning, but I don't mind the company."

His perfect white teeth appeared as his face lit up. "I'll be here in the morning."

Hurrying upstairs, she darted into the apartment and waved at the window.

He stood below and waved his hand like he wanted something.

Opening the window, she leaned out.

"You don't have my number if you need anything! Put in your number, and I'll text you mine," he called. "Stand back so I don't hit you."

When she took a couple steps back, his phone sailed through the window and landed perfectly on the sofa. She picked it up and typed herself in as a contact. Then she leaned out and dropped it.

The man deftly caught the phone and typed.

Her phone chirped. His phone number popted up in a text. "Got it!"

He smiled and waved before turning to head home.

She closed the window and hung up her coat. The phone chirped again _._

 _Sweet dreams, Lois._

That odd, warm, fuzzy feeling he could trigger blossomed again.

 _Sweet dreams, Clark._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thanks for the review, Helen Grey! I'm glad someone likes it. I realized it was a risk writing about Clark from this angle and Lois helping him discover his powers.**

* * *

Speak of the Devil, and he shall come. A huge bouquet of red roses sat on her desk the next morning.

Clark cut off his words when Kat walked up in her little red dress.

"Secret admirer is back, Lois," Kat, one of the reporters who didn't know how to wear full clothing, said on her way past. She stopped and looked Clark up and down like a piece of meat. "Hey there, big guy. Are you new here?" The woman practically purred it like a lion about to make a kill.

"Yes. Clark Kent - " he held his hand out, completely oblivious to the threat.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "She sleeps with anything male. I wouldn't be surprised if the CDC declares the woman a walking biohazard."

He looked over his shoulder.

Kat walked away in her tight red dress that was far too short and red heels that made her legs look miles long.

"Hey!" She snapped her fingers at him. "Stop staring."

Clark turned his head and looked at her. "I wasn't staring." He frowned.

"Yeah, and I'm the President."

"Okay, maybe a little. Women don't wear anything like that in Kansas. Do you own dresses like that?" His lips curled in that boyish smile.

"Pig." Reaching her desk, she picked up the heavy bouquet and headed for the large trashcan in the break room.

"Lois, how many admirers do you have?" Perry teased on his way past.

Jimmy, the rookie photographer just out of school, ran over. "Hey, Lane! Perry just gave us a big scoop. He said - "

"Hang on, let me get rid of these and I'll be right back." There had to be more than three dozen roses,and walking across the newsroom in high heels trying to see over the long stems was harder than expected.

The roses lifted to the side and the weight disappeared. "I can carry them for you," Clark said and appeared on the other side of them. "Where are you headed?" He didn't do well disguising his tone that he worried these were from a potential boyfriend.

"The trash."

He blinked. "Oh."

She led the way and pointed to the can.

Clark set the crystal vase on the counter beside the trash and looked at her. "Are you certain? These look expensive."

"They're from my ex."

"The money one?"

She nodded.

Without another word, he glanced around to see if anyone was coming. Then he pulled out the roses and smashed them between his hands, letting chunks fall into the trash. "Do you want the vase?"

"Nope."

Again, he glanced around. Then he smacked it against his hip and let the thousands of shards drop into the trash. He dusted his hands and hip off and then smiled down at the destroyed mess. "Took out the trash!" The man grinned at her.

A laughed bubbled up. "I have a feeling you enjoyed that more than I did."

"Hell, yeah."

"You're like a barbaric ape."

He puffed out his chest and thumped it. "Tarzan no ape. Tarzan squish dipshit's head like flower," he grunted in a deep voice.

That won a laugh that washed away the stress from finding the roses. "Clark, you act like a dork sometimes."

Clark smiled and walked over to the door. "Sometimes acting like a dork is worth the laugh."

"Come on. It sounds like Perry gave Jimmy an assignment for us."

He held the door open, his smile fading into a serious look. "You can get a restraining order on him, you know. Maybe he'll go away then."

"Yeah, that didn't work so well because he owns half the police force." She slipped out the door, ignoring his brow furrow in concern.

* * *

"I can't believe Perry didn't have a heart attack. His face turned quite red." Clark shook his head in the elevator that evening.

"Poor Jimmy. I guess he got excited being able to interview a billionaire and forgot to charge his camera battery. I've never heard Perry yell before." She stepped out into the lobby.

"Well, he won't forget that lesson. Some of us are going out for a beer. Do you wanna come? It's just down the corner toward Uptown."

"Oh." She bit her lip.

He shrugged. "You don't have to."

"No, I just didn't know everyone was going out." She glanced down at her heels and business skirt. Not exactly the outfit for a bar.

His brow knit. "They said they go out every couple weeks. You know, you should relax a bit more at work—people keep asking if I'm surviving you. I can take you home to change, if you want."

She shook her head. "It'll look weird if we show up together. Go ahead. I'll be there in a bit."

"No, it won't. We're partners, so nobody will think anything of it. Let's go get you some warmer clothes." He caught her arm and pulled her through the doors.

The minute a foot touched the snow-covered sidewalk, it slid right out. Grabbing the first thing within reach, she fell against his chest.

"I gotcha." He seemed as steady as a rock and held tight as she got her footing. Those blue eyes locked onto hers.

Her heart took off. "Thanks," she breathed and slowly pulled away to stand on her own.

"Maybe you should hold onto me." He took a step forward to offer his arm and started to go down himself. In the blink of an eye, he was upright again. A chuckle escaped him. "I guess it comes in handy to have fast reflexes in winter."

Something about the snow floating onto his black hair and covering the world in white as he stood there smiling and offering his arm made everything seem perfect. Taking his arm, she hung on tight. "Don't fall on me," she giggled.

"Hold on—whoa!" He must've slid in his dress shoes because his footprints left a slip streak but he was upright.

She burst out laughing.

"Oh, sure, it's funny because you don't have to try to balance." He smiled and picked his way over the sidewalk.

A squeak of surprise broke free as she swung from his arm for a split instant before he held her close again. "We aren't getting very far," she laughed.

"I know. Do we dare have you climb on my back and I make a run for it?"

"No!" She giggled and straightened to hold his arm again.

Car tires squealed. Head-on car lights blinded.

"Lois!" Clark screamed.

Closing her eyes, she braced for pain.

A loud crunch of metal.

No pain.

She opened her eyes. He stood an arm's reach away, the front of the car wrapped around his lower body. "Clark!" The scream tore from her throat as she scrambled to get to him.

"I'm alright. See if anyone in the car is hurt." He began to pry the metal away to free himself.

Her hands shook trying to grab the doorknob. Ambulance sirens approached. Catching the handle, she yanked. A man laid unconscious over a deflated airbag. "There's one man in the car. He's unconscious with a small head wound. He's belted in." She felt at the man's neck. 'His pulse is strong."

The sirens grew louder.

Holding onto the door so as not to slip, she hurried around to the front. Clark was still well wrapped inside the wreckage. "Clark, you have to get out." She glanced down the street where red lights flashed.

"I can't, my hands are shaking." The more he panicked, the more his hands shook. She reached in to see if she could push anything out of the way.

White-hot pain bolted through her hand. "Ow!" Jerking her hand back, she clutched where the metal had sliced her palm. Red lights reflected off windows. She glanced over her shoulder. The ambulance was a block away. "Clark." When she looked back to him, his nose twitched.

He got stronger if he smelled her blood. He'd be able to get free. She shoved the wound under his nose.

His pupils dilated and his coat suddenly struggled to contain him. He pried the metal apart like paper.

A gust of wind and blur of color, and then she was standing with his arm around her on the far side of her apartment steps. Her head swam from the sudden inerta and knees buckled.

Cement-hard arms wrapped around and something unyielding guided her head to rest against the building wall.

She blinked and vision began to return. He cradled her head against his chest, not the wall. "I feel better. Let's go inside."

"I can't." He released her head.

"Why?" She followed to where his finger pointed.

Where he must've stepped had crushed the sidewalk blocks. The block underneath his feet spidered out with cracks too.

"I think it's the smell of your blood."

She looked up at him.

His eyes dilated to completely black. "Everything is bright like it's daylight." A quiver leaked into his voice, as if frightened what was happening.

"It's okay. It's probably just adrenaline. I'm gonna go upstairs and bandage my hand, and it should all calm down. I'll be right back," she said calmly, keeping the panic out of her voice so he wouldn't panic.

"Do you need stitches?"

"I don't know yet. Stay here. It's so dark in this corner that no one will see you."

He nodded.

She held the railing up the slippery steps and hurried inside.

A knock came on the apartment door before her hand was bandaged. "Lois?"

Hurrying to the door, she unlocked it and stepped back for Clark.

"I'm feeling bett—oh god, nevermind." His nostrils flared and he turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. "How bad is it?"

She glanced down at the blood already soaking the gauze. "It won't slow down."

The poor man drew a deep breath and tried to force his eyes to focus as he took her hand and peered under the gauze. "That's really deep." He blinked hard. "Hold on, I have to turn off the lights."

A soft creaking came from the floor.

His head whipped down to the wood floorboards underneath him. "Hurry, grab a sharp knife."

"What?"

"Just do it. My blood coagulates yours. Hurry, before the floor gives out and you're explaining to the landlord why I fell through two stories."

She hit a light switch on the way to the kitchen to dim the living room for him and then got a knife.

"Hold my hand." He held his hand out, probably not trusting himself to actually hold hers yet. Then he took a deep breath and held it.

And held it.

His flesh slowly began to soften.

The clock ticked two minutes and he didn't seem to have any signs of being oxygen deprived.

He took the knife and slashed it across his palm. A curse broke the silence as he grabbed her hand and pressed his wound to hers.

It hurt something fierce at first and instinctual reaction tried to pull free, but he held tight. Then it began to tingle and the pain faded.

Five minutes and his chest finally gave out as he gulped in air. When he let go of her hand to inspect it, the wound wasn't healed but it was sealed over as if days old.

His skin began to harden again, and his cut healed within seconds.

She let go when he grabbed his head, as if it caused a headache for his eyes to dilate impossibly wide.

"It's sealed. Why are you reacting still?"

The coat began to strain over his muscles again. "I don't know, but it hurts this time," he gasped and sank to his knees as he doubled over.

Digging in his pocket, she pulled out his phone and found Dr. Klein's number.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Klein?"

"Yes, Lois? Are you calling from Clark's phone?"

"Yes. I cut my hand badly and he started reacting. He used his blood to get my wound to seal up, and his cut is healed. But, he's reacting again and it's causing a lot of pain. How do we stop it?"

Clark bit off a cry of agony as his weight grew heavy enough to make the floor groan.

"Kiss, touch—do whatever you have to in order to arouse him. I think his body senses you're hurt, but if you arouse him, it'll signal his body to soften for mating so as not to crush you."

"God, I hope you're right." Dropping to her knees, she let the phone fall and cupped his face in her hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

It didn't do anything. His chest heaved and his brow grew wet from the pain. "Clark, he said kiss me and it'll stop."

He accepted another kiss and seemed to struggle to not pant. The panic could be felt rising in him. His mouth pressed, hard and unyielding. His tongue slipped past her lips as he leaned forward too hard and she plopped onto her bottom. It must've worked because he didn't seem to be in pain. He followed her back and a hand cupped the back of her head as he moved onto his hands and knees, his mouth softening against hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as her heart took off. His body still wasn't normal hardness for him. No objection wanted to come as he laid her back on the floor.

He crawled on top but didn't touch except where his mouth danced with hers and his hand cupped her cheek.

Her sigh of peaceful pleasure interrupted the spell—he ended the kiss.

Those blue eyes remained slightly dilated as he sat back and held out a hand. She took it and used the opportunity to scoot back when he turned away to pick up the phone.

The racing of her heart and heavy breathing yet drowned out his words as he got up and walked over to the window to finish speaking with the doctor. She stared at his back as he shrugged off his coat. The world had turned upside-down and fireworks had exploded, with him the cause and yet the center of the universe that had kept her grounded. He, however, seemed so...unaffected like it had simply been the means to the end of pain, nothing more.

Embarrassment burned hot, so she got up and went to the bathroom to bandage her hand.

"Lois?" His soft tone came from the doorway as she tried to wrap the wound one-handed. "We should get you to the hospital to get that checked." He stepped in and washed his hands.

"It's fine." Keeping focused on the bandage, she held it against her stomach for tension to get it on. And tried to ignore the burning in her cheeks. The was far too old of an age to have a crush and completely unprofessional. It'd been a moment of male-female desire between to bodies because of intimate physical contact, nothing more.

His large hands slipped in and took over, and he peeked under the gauze. "This will leave a large scar. It needs stitching," he said quietly and gently wrapped it.

"No it—"

"Can you move your fingers?" he cut in, his brow furrowing as he cradled her hand in both of his.

The middle finger had a little movement and the forefinger barely any.

His eyes glowed for a moment. "The tendons are damaged. Come, I'll take you to the hospital." He didn't even wait for a response before scooping her up.

"But—"

"I'm not arguing, Lois. You may need surgery so you don't lose use of your hand."

Surgery?! No one said anything about a hospital and scalpels and needles and pain. She pushed against his chest. "Just stop!"

He set her down.

Tears welled as her hands shook. "I just, I wanna c,change my clothes—" The tears burst free as panic set in, seeking any excuse to not go.

Without a word, he gathered her to his chest and held tight. "It'll be alright. I'll stay the whole time, and we can call your mom or sister. We'll make sure you're getting any meds on time and ice it so it doesn't hurt. I'm sorry, I didn't realize how badly it was cut, or I would've busted up the sidewalk all the way to the hospital instead of here."

That won a tiny smile before the meltdown returned. "I've never had surgery."

When his hand rubbed her shoulder, it had the softness of a regular person's touch. "Dad had to get his appendix out a few years ago. Abdominal surgery is supposed to be worse, and he wasn't in tears. You don't have to be worried of it hurting to walk around or sit up or anything like that. While you're healing, you can boss me around to type up your work."

A smile cracked through. "Are you hurt from the car?"

"I'm fine. Let's get you changed and some ice. I don't want the doctors to have to wait for any swelling to go down."

Clark remained so calm and absorbed everything the doctors said, even when she cried right before surgery. He struggled to control his reaction when the nurse drew blood and started an I.V., but the man insisted on staying.

* * *

Clark looked so peaceful asleep in the chair beside the hospital bed. Three o'clock in the morning and nerves caused too much stress to sleep. Listening to his slow, deep breathes helped calm the nerves.

He'd been waiting when she'd back from surgery and had pulled up a chair to the bed and held her hand. That'd been two hours ago, and even in sleep he still held her hand.

The ice pack began to slip from where it rested on her hand that was elevated with pillows.

Before she could even reach for it, Clark had it back in place. Then he sat back and ran a hand over his face. "Sorry, I must've fallen asleep." He glanced up at the I.V. bag and monitors. "Does it hurt?"

"I think the local anesthesia is still working. You can sleep."

He rubbed his eyes. "I've been exhausted since the car accident."

"It probably uses a lot of energy having those reactions."

The dear man sat up straighter. "Have you slept?"

She shook her head. "I think nerves are getting to me."

A glance to his watch and he stretched. "Another couple hours and you'll probably be discharged. Then we'll get you tucked in your own bed. Are you thirsty? They might let you have water now."

"No, I'm fine. Get some rest." She gave his hand a squeeze.

"I'm awake."

* * *

"Lois?"

She blinked in the sunlight.

Clark leaned over the bed and rubbed her arm. "They said you can go home. I've set your clothes on the bed." He helped her sit up and untied the gown at her back. "Do you need a nurse to help you get dressed?"

With a shake of her head, she snatched the shirt to get out of here as fast as possible.

He chuckled and stepped out.

Doing everything with one hand was harder than expected, especially getting her jeans buttoned and tennis shoes tied. Finally giving up, she sighed and waited for him to come back.

Two seconds after she stilled, a knock came on the door. "Ready?" he called.

"Yes!"

He entered.

"I can't get my shoes. Or my button." She pulled up her sweater a little.

A smile softened his face. He did the button and then knelt to tie the shoes. "The nurse said she has to give final instructions and then we can go. They won't let you leave without putting you in a car, so I called a taxi."

"Thanks. I'll pay you back."

The man made a face as he stood. "Don't be silly. Is it hurting? I'm inclined to say we get you home, and then I can buzz to the pharmacy to pick up your meds."

"I'm okay to go home first."

Every bump in the road caused a bolt of blinding pain to shoot up the entire arm, not even a mile into the nine-mile drive home.

"We'll get out here," Clark ordered the driver just as the tears started. He paid and then got out and scooped her up. "Lois, close your eyes so you don't get nauseous."

She didn't even hear the car door close before a gust of wind hit.

Seconds later, he had her tucked into bed. "I'll be right back with the meds. Do you need anything right now?"

Shaking her head, she brushed at the tears.

He set her tablet and phone on the bed and backed up to the door. "Don't cry. Within five minutes we'll have the meds." Then he was gone. The hospital papers flew all over the room from his gust of wind.

He appeared beside the bed three minutes later with a glass of milk. "I'll get the papers. It says don't take it on an empty stomach." He set a pill in her hand and then handed over the milk. Then he disappeared and reappeared again with a bigger ice pack. "I grabbed another ice wrap. We'll numb it from the front and back." Once the ice was on, he eased onto the side of the bed and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. "What else do you need?" The dear man looked so distraught.

"I'm okay. The ice helps. You don't have to stay."

His brow furrowed. "Of course I'm staying. I'll call Perry and let him know you need the day off. I don't know if he'll let me off being I don't have PTO yet, but I'll ask to work from here. Should we call your mom or sister?"

It was the third time he'd asked. She bit her lip and shook her head. "My sister and I don't get along that well. Mom...her health isn't so good."

"But, I'm sure your mom would want to know you're hurt. I can stay with you, it doesn't mean she needs to come."

His phone went off. He pulled it out and looked. "It's my parents. They want me to check in each night to be sure I wasn't abducted by some mad scientist in the city." Then he hit the button. "Hi...Mom, Mom, I'm okay...No, I'm fine. Mom..." He looked up at the ceiling in exasperation for a moment.

Martha's voice came through hysterical on the other end. It sounded like she scolded him.

"Okay, Mom, Lois got hurt...Yes, she's better. She cut her hand pretty bad and needed surgery during the night to fix the tendons." Then he held out the phone. "Mom wants to talk to you."

She took it. "Hi, Mrs. Kent."

"Oh, Lois, what do you need? Jonathan has to work, but I can come over. I can cook and clean and bring some movies. Do you have a VHS player? I have some movies you might like."

A small smile tugged. "Thank you so much, but Clark said he can stick around. There's no need for you to drive so far. I don't have an extra bed or anything here."

"Oh posh, I'd sleep on the sofa. Are you sure? I can get groceries?"

"Thank you, but the roads still aren't good. Maybe in a couple days if I'm still laid up I'll take you up on your offer so Clark can have a break?"

Clark screwed up his face like he wouldn't need a break.

"Alright, dear, but you call if you two need something."

Once Martha was off the phone, Clark picked up her cell. "Do you want to call your mom, or shall I?"

"Clark—"

He set down the phone. "Why do you object?"

"Because she's in and out of the hospital a lot from cancer. She'll try to come even if she isn't well."

"So then I'll bring her." The man shrugged. "If she's like you, it's alright if she knows about my...abilities."

Heaving a sigh and adjusting the ice, she gave him a look. "You are too blazé about people finding out about you. Just drop it or go home, Clark. I'm not in the mood to deal with Mom right now."

"Alright," he sighed and set the phone on the nightstand. "But she's going to be hurt if you don't call at some point today." Then he stood. "Do you want to nap?"

She nodded. "I didn't mean to snap at you—"

"You're hurt and overtired. Let's get you comfortable. I'm going to take off the ice every fifteen minutes so you don't get frostbite. I'll set my phone timer." He adjusted the pillows under her arm as she scooted down to lie flat. Once he had the blankets and pillows adjusted perfectly, he said, "Sleep tight."

Then he brushed a kiss over her forehead. He froze in the middle of it and straightened so fast that a light breeze caused a slight shiver. "Sorry, I reacted and wasn't thinking."

"We need to talk about before the hospital." She held out her good hand.

But he held up his hands. "You need to sleep right now. It was just a kiss to stop the reaction. I know the boundaries." A gentle smile softened the words. "I'll be right here in the kitchen if you need anything." Then he gently closed the door.

Staring at the door, a sadness blossomed. So it had been just a kiss to end the pain. An ache grew with each heartbeat from a hole left in its wake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Thanks for the review, TerrenceHatter! :)**

* * *

Lying on the sofa that evening in misery from the pain meds causing nausea and dizziness, she tried to sit up to find a position that offered some relief.

Clark popped up from his seat on the floor. "What do you need?"

"I don't know, I just feel sick." Closing her eyes half way to a sit, she took a deep breath as nausea swam up.

A cold breeze caressed and the nausea faded.

The sofa flexed and then strong hands helped her sit up. An arm wrapped around from the back of the sofa, and he guided her head onto his shoulder. The cold breeze continued. "Too cold?" He propped her hand with pillows stroked her arm, which helped distract from the incision pain.

"No," she breathed in relief, with eyes still closed. "Thank you."

"Of course." The gentle gust resumed.

The steady beat of his heart and warmth of his body welcomed sleep.

* * *

"Jimmy, grab the camera! Clark, that was a lead." She hung up the phone and stood, grabbing her coat. Putting it on with one hand wasn't easy.

Clark looked up from his desk with raised eyebrows. "You're not going around sewage two days after surgery." He resumed typing.

Standing there with one arm through the coat, her jaw dropped. "I'm not going to play in it! Come on!"

"Nope."

Grabbing the purse without thinking, a cry of pain burst out and the purse dropped to the floor. Oh god, it was the wrong hand. Tears welled and clutching it didn't help with the raw throbbing.

Clark hurried over, with an ice pack somehow at the ready. He cradled her hand and set the ice on. "Lois, we agreed that you could come back this soon only if you took it easy. If an infection gets in or you damage how the tendons heal, you could have serious, permanent problems. The sewage plant will probably still be leaking in a few days."

Jimmy ran over with the camera ready.

Gritting teeth against the pain, she met Clark's scolding expression. "Look, country boy, a story is only there for so many hours before someone else scoops it—"

"Fine. I'll go, but only if you promise to stay here."

She nodded.

He grabbed his coat and got in the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, she turned to Jimmy. "Let's go."

"What? But you told C.K. you'd stay." The poor kid looked confused.

"That's not my fault if he's naïve enough to believe me." She grabbed her purse with her other hand and headed out.

* * *

"Lois, this is restricted access," Jimmy whispered inside the sewage plant.

"Probably because it's where they're doing illegal activity. Come on," she whispered and slipped through the door.

Rushing water drowned out all sound. The smell of sewage overpowered in this massive room the size of a warehouse. Giant machines had meters running, but no one was in sight.

Pipes emptied raw sewage into rushing water that ran through the middle of the room. This had to have been built over the river. She pointed for Jimmy to take pictures. He started snapping.

Creeping over to the whirling meters, she pulled out a cell phone to record the rate it dumped waste into the river.

Something cold and hard and round pressed against the back of her head. That sensation was familiar enough to recognize a gun barrel. Spinning with a karate kick would likely make the person drop the gun and give a chance to steal it. Except Jimmy came around the corner, with two burly men holding his arms. One had a very large gun.

The person from behind ripped the phone out of her hand, dropped it to the ground, and stepped on it.

"Oh come on! That was new!"

"Lois Lane, I presume? Shut up and walk," the man from behind snarled.

This was good to add to the story...assuming maybe Clark came soon and saved her and Jimmy's necks. Screaming would ensure he heard. But it'd also leak his secret to Jimmy and these lowlives. Country boy needed to grow some reporter instincts and come digging back here. Fast.

* * *

"Get your hands off!" It was bad enough being tied to Jimmy in metal chains at the side of the river, the plan likely to be killed by drowning, but there was no need for the pigs to fondle her chest while wrapping the chains.

The man just laughed and ran a hand down her thigh.

A kick straight to the nose made him howl like a baby.

"Enough!" The apparent leader aimed the gun at her head. "You've had your fun, Ms. Lane."

The third man hauled her and Jimmy to their feet and attached a heavy weight ball to the chain. Oh god, this wasn't good. Then he grabbed her arm and started pulling toward the river.

"No!" Fighting and kicking and even Jimmy trying to help drop their weight didn't help.

The edge was right there. Oh god. Even if able to get out of the chains, there was no way to get back up the five-foot drop. Panic seized, making the rush of blood in her ears rival the roar of the river.

"Claaaaaaaaark!" The scream ripped out in desperate need to be heard for miles, the warehouse thankfully distorting the echo to be indecipherable—for normal ears. Stall! Anything to give Clark time to come. "Wait! I think we have a right to know who you are and why you're going to drown us!"

The leader signaled for the man to stop. He swaggered over, a filthy smile on his face. "It's my job to keep anyone from finding out about this operation."

"Who's paying you? Is this operation saving someone money, or is it a plot to poison the city? Why kill us?"

"Enough questions." He waved his hand to the man.

"No! No!" Jimmy started fighting to no avail.

The man pulled closer to the water, just upstream of the sewage dump.

"No! My boyfriend is Lex Luther! I can get you money!" she screamed. People would do anything for money.

The man just laughed and gave a final shove.

Hitting the water hurt at that speed from the added weight of chains. The weighted ball headed straight to the bottom, the rushing water making it hard to even try to move.

In the next instant, Clark appeared. With his bare hands, he broke the chain. Then he grabbed her and shoved hard, shooting her to the surface. Jimmy popped up a second later.

The river pulled and tried to swallow anything and everything. It was hard enough sputtering to stay above water, much less get out.

Clark popped up closest to Jimmy. He grabbed him and flung, sending Jimmy up onto the cement ledge enough to pull himself up.

Bobbing under again, she came up coughing just in time to see Clark cutting through the water toward her. His eyes dilated to black and his grip a little too hard as he caught her arm. He pulled her to him, his body bulging and hard. He swam, trying to make it to the edge as the river swept closer to the sewage. "I can't throw you—I'm too strong now," he gasped, as if in pain.

"Get to the edge. Jimmy can help."

She tried to reach up the five-foot ledge, but Jimmy couldn't run fast enough and reach at the same time to pull her out. She slipped back into the water. Clark grabbed her again before she went under.

The sewage was just feet away now.

Clark's body vibrated.

All the sudden, she laid on the warehouse ground at the edge of the river, coughing from having the air knocked out during the hard landing. Clark curled on his hands and knees to the right, his face contorted in pain and eyes still black.

"Lois! C.K.! Are you guys alright?!" Jimmy came running.

He couldn't see Clark like this. "Yeah, we're fine! Go outside to get reception and call the cops!" She spotted the men tied to the wall with pipes on the other side of the river. Getting to her knees, she touched Clark. His body still vibrated, and the cement continued cracking under his massive weight. "Clark, what's happening?" The arms of his sports jacket began to rip from muscles bulging.

"I don't know," he gasped and doubled over.

No one could see him like this. "Go. They broke my phone, but I'll figure out how to find you. You have to leave before anyone sees you." She stood and pulled his arm even though it didn't help lift his substantial mass.

A gust of wind and he was gone.

Near the men was a hole in the cement wall, with debris crumbled inward. Clark must've busted through the wall to get in rather than waste time finding a door. And how to explain to the police that the men were trapped in steel pipes too?

Thankfully Jimmy had been oblivious enough to not put pieces together. When she argued that the men were making up stories about something busting through the wall and wrapping them in pipes and then a man saving her and Jimmy, Ben told the other officers that the criminals must be high on drugs.

Ben walked over afterwards. "Lois," he said quietly, "something tied them up in steel pipes and busted through a cement wall. Do you know anything about it?"

"Like I said, I was kinda busy drowning."

He heaved a sigh. "Call me if you remember something." The man clearly didn't believe her.

"I will. Thanks, Ben."

It was the end of the day, so she headed home. Clark didn't show up that night, and she didn't have his phone number—or anyone's to call and find out if he was okay. Keeping watch for him out the window, a defeated sigh escaped when the clock struck midnight. "Please take care of him," she whispered in a prayer and went to bed.

* * *

The next morning, he showed up late to work. The man walked right past her desk without a word and sat at his.

"Hi, Clark." She got up and walked over. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Fine." He didn't even look up but opened his laptop.

"My phone is crushed, so I didn't know your number to call and see if you were okay."

He simply started typing.

She frowned. "Is everything okay?"

His jaw clenched, and he finally looked up. "I distinctly remember a promise that you'd stay put." He didn't seem happy.

A nervous smile tugged. "Clark, I'm a reporter. You can't honestly believe I'd let a story go."

"I told you I'd get it for us." The words came out clipped and accusing.

"And I don't send someone else out for my stories."

"Our, Lois. Our story." He stood. "No damn story is worth dying for," he hissed. "Next time, tell me the truth instead of lying to my face." He swiped a pen and notepad off the desk with a glare and headed to the conference room for the daily meeting.

Instead of sitting beside her as a team like usual, he sat between Jimmy and another reporter.

Nobody had ever _not_ wanted to sit by her. Slipping into an empty seat, it was hard not to flush when people glanced and then looked at Clark across room, obviously discord at play. He didn't look over even once during the meeting.

Afterwards, she walked to him at his desk. "Are we going to do some investigating and find out who is behind this whole sewage plan? Or, are you going to continue sulking?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Sulking?"

"Yes. You won't talk to me and are ignoring me like a two year old. Sulking."

That made his eyebrows snap together. "Or maybe I'm pissed as hell that you almost got yourself killed."

The surprise of hearing him curse made it take a moment to reply. "We're partners. You don't have a right to scold me—"

"Get outside. Right now." He grabbed his coat and headed down the stairwell without even waiting.

When she got outside and spotted him, he turned and went into an alley. She followed.

Before questions could be asked, he said, "Close your eyes." Then he scooped her up and a strong gust of wind hit for several seconds.

When the dizziness stopped and she opened her eyes, he set her down. It was a field with mountains in the distance. "Where are we?"

"Montana," he replied absently. "Jimmy said this isn't the first time you've gotten into trouble for a story." His arms crossed over his broad chest, and his tone cand out mighty irritated.

Rolling her eyes, she held out a hand. "Clark, that's what comes with the territory—"

"Not when it means getting killed?!" The ground shook with the force of his shout.

Somehow it didn't make her ears hurt. The shock of someone being capable of yelling strong enough to shake the ground rendered speechlessness.

He paced. "What if I hadn't been there to hear you?! What if I hadn't gotten you out of the water on time?! What if you'd gotten in the sewage—do you realise you'd probably die from that much bacteria and disease in a surgical wound?!" The mountains rumbled in the distance from a small avalanche he caused.

"But it turned out alright."

"This time!" He threw his hands up in the air. Then he thrust a finger at his chest. "I'm not a safety net for you to go doing something stupid! I don't know what my capabilities are or even if I can always hear you! I'm not a free ticket for you to get into trouble! What if they'd shot you?! I wouldn't have known! I wouldn't have gotten there in time!" The ground trembled, and his chest heaved and eyes began to dilate.

"Slow down." She stepped closer and set a hand on his chest. "I didn't realize that there'd be that kind of danger at a sewage plant. I promise next time to not lie."

Those blue eyes began to return to normal. "You're a good reporter, Lois, but there are some stories just not worth the risk." He took her hand from his chest and held it, his temper seeming to calm. "I was angry, not sulking."

"I know. Thank you for saving me, by the way."

He nodded. "I don't want to have to do that again."

"Yell at me?" she teased.

A dry look was his response.

Maybe best to change the topic. "Why were you vibrating yesterday?"

His gaze dropped and shame crossed his features as he shook his head. "We should get back before anyone notices we're missing." He dropped her hand when his skin began to soften.

Something wasn't right and he seemed ashamed to say. "Clark? I know being different is hard for you, but if you ever need someone to talk to, you can tell me."

Those eyes locked with hers, filled with only sadness and loneliness to a degree not seen in him before. "Thank you. Let's go." But he hesitated mid-reach, as if he contemplated something. "If I...if I started showing up with more capabilities, it would be weird, right?" Then he shook his head and a bitter smile touched his lips. "Of course it would. It'd freak anyone out." He reached to pick her up.

Setting a hand on his shoulder to stop him, she held his gaze. Some kind of new capability had appeared yesterday, and it had him nervous and self-conscious again. "Clark? Maybe to someone who doesn't know you, your capabilities might startle someone. But, I know you're a good person, naïve to a fault, and compassionate. I don't think you could weird me out. Well, maybe making your eyes turn red without telling me or growing vampire fangs to suck my blood..." A smile crept in.

His shoulders relaxed and he smiled. "No, I don't do anything creepy like that."

Giving a playful punch on the shoulder, mindful to not break her knuckles, she laughed. "Come on, hit me with it."

The smile faded. "In the water yesterday, I started to panic about you getting in the sewage with your incision. I jumped out of the water but didn't push off of anything."

"I know." A nod of encouragement and the lack of repulsion seemed to give him courage.

"Lois? I can jump really far...like, really far."

Her brow knit. "So you were vibrating because the muscles were contracting so hard to push off?"

"I think so."

"Did you talk to Dr. Klein?"

He gave a small shake of his head.

"Can I see?"

It seemed odd that he backed up several steps. Then his hands fisted at his sides and the ground began to quiver. Clark shot up into the sky and all the blood drained to her feet when there was a crash in the mountain almost a mile away. It couldn't be...he couldn't possibly have jumped that far.

Something came down from the sky, and she ran back. He crashed into the ground and ended up waist-deep in a hole. No words came to mind as he climbed out.

"Every time I try, it's farther." He walked over, his eyes glowing with excitement, obviously wanting to know her reaction.

Her mouth hung open, utterly speechless.

The excitement fled his eyes. "It's freakish, isn't it?" He took a step back and looked away, so completely awkward and like he wished to be anywhere else.

His shame snapped the shock away. "That's farther than I expected." Crossing the gap to him, she took his hand. "You have to give me leeway for surprise. You do things that defy the impossible. But, I don't think it's freakish, and I certainly don't want you to be self-conscious."

He nodded and some of the shame melted from his face.

"Can I ask what you meant when you said at your parents' house that I'm so graceful? You said it in a way that didn't seem like a man trying to flirt."

That line in his forehead appeared whenever his brow furrowed. "Everyone seems to move at a slower pace. Sometimes their movements are disjointed, but yours are fluid like mine."

She frowned. "My movements are just like everyone else's. No one looks slow or disjointed, at least to me."

"Oh." The word held unwelcome surprise. "I thought it looked like that to everyone." He stared at the grass in silence.

"Have things always looked like that?" She let go of his hand to touch his cheek. At some point, the world had taught him to be ashamed of and repulsed by his differences. If only he could find a way to see them as gifts.

"It grew worse when I was a teenager, but I was afraid to tell my parents. Dr. Klein tried doing MRIs and x-rays as it was to see if it was a brain tumor or find some kind of explanation. I'm too dense for any kind of imaging." He swallowed hard.

"When you vibrate, does it make your hands shake? Any clues for Dr. Klein will help him figure out what's going on."

He held up a hand. "I didn't pay attention. I have to contract all my muscles, so possibly." The trembling started and his hand didn't appear to move.

Reaching up, she touched it. Vibrations so fast they were almost impossible to feel radiated through him. And then he seemed to get taller. Frowning in confusion, she looked down. His feet hovered inches from the ground. Her eyes flew up to his.

The man watched his hand, seeming oblivious to anything else. Then he looked at her and seemed surprised by the additional six-inch heigh difference. His eyes darted down and bugged to see his feet off the ground. A gasp of surprise and he dropped onto his feet. Huge, frightened eyes met hers. "What's happening?" His chest heaved.

Cupping his face in her hands to keep him calm, she searched those blue eyes. "I don't know, but we'll go see Dr. Klein. It's alright, Clark."

His arms wrapped around and held on even though his body began to soften. He shook with fear and buried his face against her neck. "What if I am an alien?" His voice cracked on the words as tears threatened.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held tight and swallowed down her own fear. Something was happening to him. Tears welled, but he needed her to be strong right now. Steadying her voice, she answered, "We're not going to get ahead of ourselves. Let's go talk to Dr. Klein. But even if you are from another planet, it doesn't change anything. No one has to know whom you don't want to. We'll go talk to him together. It's gonna be okay, Clark. It's gonna be okay."


	7. Chapter 7

"It won't hurt," Dr. Klein promised.

Clark laid on the exam table shirtless with gel on his chest and belly at the ready for an ultrasound. The poor man looked nervous.

"The worst part is the gel is cold. Are you alright?" His hair felt so silky under her fingers, offering some distraction from her own nerves. If a blood draw was painful for him, a biopsy would be agony.

"You don't have to do this." His eyes searched, so much stress buried in them.

He needed teasing to ease his nerves. "Are you crying foul over a kiss, country boy?"

A tiny, forced smile curled the corners of his lips. "More like over the muscle biopsy at the end."

Her smile faded, aching for him being subjected to more pain and tests. "As soon as he's done with the ultrasound and biopsy, I'll stop the kiss and you'll heal. It'll be really quick."

"Alright, let's go," Dr. Klein said.

Moving her hair aside, she leaned down and brushed her lips over his. He tasted of cinnamon. His tension was palpable, so her tongue dipped past his lips.

It took only a second before his hand buried in her hair and he returned the kiss. The kiss held a gentleness, as if he tried to be careful with his strength. But as his body began to soften, his kiss deepened.

Fireworks exploded as every muscle melted under his touch, utterly lost to him.

His head turned away far too soon in a gasp of pain.

Her eyes flew open. Dr. Klein withdraw a needle, almost the width of a pencil, from Clark's abdomen.

"That's it." Dr. Klein pressed a gauze to the wound that she took over holding, and he headed to the microscope.

"All done. Are you okay?" It'd been a huge needle, and Clark had looked so painful. The room grew warm.

Clark nodded. "It's feeling better." Then his eyes narrowed on her. "Lois? You're white." He sat up.

Black spots began to block out vision.

Plopping into something, a large hand pushed her head between her knees. Clark must've shoved her in a chair. Vision began to return. "That was a big needle." The weak laugh sounded tinny.

"I think you're squeamish." Clark chuckled. "Better?"

Sitting up, she nodded and looked at his stomach that had already healed.

He walked back to the table and pulled on his shirt, covering up those perfect muscles.

Dr. Klein came over. He didn't smile. "Clark, let's go talk for a moment."

The smile she'd coaxed from Clark disappeared. He swallowed hard.

Something terribly wrong had shown up in the tests. "Is he alright?" Not having any affair in his medical business, it was a question that shouldn't be asked. Yet, it blurted out the moment the panic hit.

"Yes. He's not dying or anything like that. Come."

Clark followed Dr. Klein out of hearing distance to two chairs.

Her nails bit into her palms as she watched Clark's posture tense in response to whatever the doctor said. Despair and shock paled his face, and he sank into a chair behind him. The doctor squatted and set a hand on his shoulder. Clark leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Devastation. It vibrated from him across the distance.

He needed someone there as support. Taking a step, it took every ounce of willpower to stop. If he wanted her there, he'd signal or look over or something. Maybe he wanted privacy for a moment to absorb the news. Wait. Just give him a few more moments, and then he'd look over. Then he'd be ready to not be alone in this. Every muscle coiled with tension, ready to run to him.

Clark dropped his hands and still wouldn't look up as he brushed at his eyes. Oh god, he was crying. Taking another step, she paused. Tears welled seeing him suffer whatever news the doctor had.

When Dr. Klein said something, Clark shook his head. Then he pressed a hand to his eyes and didn't move. The doctor set a hand on his shoulder and said something. Clark's response wasn't visible being he didn't appear to move.

The doctor got up and walked over.

Her heart sped up. "What's wrong? Why's he so upset?" Dr. Klein's solemn expression froze further questions.

"He doesn't have anything terminal, but he needs some time to process the results. He asked that I send you home."

Blinking, the words took a moment to process. "What?" That couldn't have been heard right. Clark needed someone, not to be left alone to deal with whatever had devastated him. She looked over Dr. Klein's shoulder. Clark looked destroyed. Darting around the doctor, she hurried across the great distance. "Clark! You don't have to tell me anything, but I'm not going to leave you all...alone." Her feet slammed to a halt in shock when he got up just a few feet from her and walked away.

"Lois?" Dr. Klein's hand rested on her shoulder from behind. "He's quite upset. Sometimes patients need time to process before being ready to even be around anyone." Compassion filled the doctor's voice.

Turning, tears burned. "You told him that he's not from earth, didn't you? What he's been terrified of since gaining these capabilities as a teenager, I helped you figure out, didn't I?" She sniffled.

"I can't tell you without his consent, but none of this is your fault."

Drawing an unsteady breath, she sniffled and pressed her lips together as her face crumpled. "He trusted me." Heartbreak grew to an unbearable ache inside as Clark walked out the back exit door. "You don't understand. I promised it was going to be okay. I'm the one who made tests possible...I'm the one who brought his nightmare to life."

No one heard from him for two days.


	8. Chapter 8

"Perry? Have you heard from Clark?" It'd been three days without any word from him. Martha and Jonathan weren't answering their house phone listed online either.

He sat up and folded his hands on the desk. "Sit down for a moment, Lois."

Dread grew as she sat.

"This is between us. Clark called in his resignation. I told him to think about it for a few days. Everyone here likes that backwoods boy, and you and him get along—it's not easy to partner you." Perry cracked a smile. "I don't know if you two had a falling out or if that sewage plant incident rattled him, but he's too young to throw away his career like this." He hesitated. "It's no secret that the boy is head-over-heels for you—"

That was the biggest judgemental error Perry's made yet.

"So I think you need to knock some sense into him."

She nodded and sat forward. "I think it was the sewage plant. They crushed my phone. Can I have his number or address? I'll go talk to him."

Ten minutes later, she trotted down the city streets, this time wearing winter boots without Clark around to keep from slipping on ice.

120\. She looked up the steps to the blue doors. This must be his apartment. Climbing the steps, she knocked and bowed her head so he couldn't look out the peephole and choose to not open the door to her.

It opened.

"Hi Cl—"

Martha stood there with a surprised expression. "Lois!" It was said a tad loud, as if to give warning inside the apartment. "Um, won't you come in, dear?"

She stepped inside. "I tried calling yesterday. I suppose there wasn't an answer if you're out here." Forcing a smile, she glanced to see Jonathan sitting on the sofa. It coudn't be good if his parents had come all the way out in winter.

It wasn't hard to miss the concerned glance between Martha and Jonathan. "Um, we had a visit planned out here a while ago. Are you working today?"

That wasn't a blatant hint to leave. Looking from one to the other, she pulled off her hat. "Look, I was with Clark at the doctor visit. I don't know officially what the results were, but I know it upset him pretty badly. My phone was crushed, so I don't have his number and didn't know where he lived until I got it out of my boss. Perry let it slip that Clark gave resignation, and I just came to see how he's doing." It all rushed out at once.

Martha gave a motherly smile and took her coat. "He's in his bedroom, dear. Come sit. Jonathan, see if you can coax him out."

"Thank you." She followed Martha down the loft steps into the great room that held the living room and kitchen. It was very clean for a bachelor pad. "I'm taking a shot in the dark, but I'm guessing the test results revealed that maybe he's not from earth. I just...oh Martha, I'm so worried. He looked absolutely devastated at whatever the doctor told him."

Martha sat beside her and took her hands. "He's having a hard time with what the doctor told him, but I'm so glad you came. He might be standoffish, but I think it's going to mean a lot to him that you're here."

Clark appeared in the kitchen with Jonathan. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt and looked miserable.

Without even thinking, she hurried across the distance and threw her arms around his neck.

He didn't return it but instead eased her arms away. "We need to talk."

The tone in his voice squeezed a knot in her stomach. This wasn't good. She followed him out to the patio. "Clark, you're freaking me out. What's going on?"

He closed the door and turned. "Lois, sit down." The man wouldn't even come closer.

Lowering into the patio chair, she frowned. "If you're going to tell me that you're not from earth, that's old news."

His eyes widened.

"Oh come on, I'm a reporter. I put that and your reaction together." She stood. "I don't care, Clark." When she walked over, he took a step back.

"And if there were physical differences?" he growled, his glare cold.

She rolled her eyes. "A head can pop out of your stomach?" When he didn't smile, she sighed. "Clark, I think you're more afraid than anyone."

With a shake of his head, he wandered to the railing. "Lois, I'm serious."

Walking over, she set a hand on his arm and pulled until he turned around. "Stop pushing me away. What's wrong? I thought we were friends."

He swallowed hard. "It's going to make you freak out." The man eased her hand off.

"Alright..." Taking a step back, she sat.

"Well, we'll skip past the fact that I'm an alien," he said bitterly.

"You're not an alien—you're just not from earth, if that's even true," she corrected.

That self-conscious look returned to his eyes. "I have two hearts."

She blinked. "Two hearts as in you're supposed to, or it's going to hurt you?"

Looking away, he rocked back on his heels and shoved his fingers in his jeans pockets. "He thinks supposed to, and it's why I can run fast and everything. It's one like yours and then a smaller, two-chamber one." His jaw clenched.

"Okay. That's not so odd." Cocking her head, she searched his profile. "I get that possibly not being born on earth has you weirded out, but there's certainly nothing to be so distressed about over having an extra heart."

He turned away.

"Clark?" Standing up, she stepped over and set a hand on his hard shoulder. "Maybe it's why you're so compassionate." She cracked a smile.

But he didn't. His cheeks turned pink and he ran a hand through his hair, still not meeting her eyes. "I...I don't work the same way as a man...sexually."

A frown pulled. "I know. Your eyes dilate and skin softens. I'm not sure why you think that would freak me out."

"Anatomically."

The surprise stole any words.

"I, um, Dr. Klein thought everything was normal because I, uh, never was physically attracted to a woman. It's apparent now that there are, um, some physical differences."

He looked like a man every other way, so it never dawned that everything wouldn't work the same in that regard. It was an unexpected confession, and an odd thing to bring up right now. "Okay..."

He cleared his throat and shifted, looking so painfully self-conscious as his eyes dropped to the ground. "I'm just...I wasn't sure...when we kissed it seemed like..."

Her heart beat faster. Maybe he felt the same way. "Yes?"

"I didn't want to mislead you."

As in think physical attraction meant anything more. Something inside withered, leaving behind a hole in her chest. "Oh." A forced laugh came. "Yeah, no, of course, I know kissing is just for medical purposes."

Silence. He looked away.

"Is that not what you meant?" She leaned to try and catch his eye, willing him to say he meant the opposite.

"I'm sorry, I'm just overwhelmed. It's been a long day."

There was nothing else to say. He just admitted to not having feelings and had quit The Daily Planet. It would just be a matter of time before he returned to Smallville. He'd already thrown the beginnings of a friendship away, without a second glance. A lump grew in her throat. "Well, I, um, I should get back to work." Time to leave before he saw the tears threatening.

At the doorway of the patio, she brushed at her eyes and turned. "I hope you come back to work."

He didn't turn or even move.

Swallowing hard to still the quiver in her voice, she croaked, "I won't ever tell anyone your secret." There was nothing left to be lost, so a confession came out as a whisper, "I don't want you to go."

His head whipped to look over his shoulder, those blue eyes wide with shock.

She hurried out, brushing away the tears before Martha and Jonathan saw.

"Lois? Is everything alright, dear?" Martha jumped off the sofa when darted straight to her coat at the door.

Without turning, she sniffled and shoved down the tears. "Yeah, I didn't realize how late I'd stayed. It was good to see you both." Then she slipped outside and ran down the steps.

Heading back to the office would be good—work was good for grief.

* * *

Sitting at her desk late one Friday night, she glanced over at Clark typing away on his computer.

Things hadn't been the same since three months ago when he'd almost quit at The Daily Planet. He'd returned to work the day after she'd visited, but he went about everything like none of it had happened...aside from avoiding her touch like the plague. At first it had hurt, but he'd gradually come out of his shell and replaced the missing touches with smiles and laughs.

He was always the gentleman and a wonderful reporter. He'd saved her from gunfire a time or two when chasing a story. It was fun to watch football games with him and scream in front of the TV. But he never shared anything about his capabilities anymore. The one time of bringing up the fact that he never touched and asking if he was alright physically, it was met with a grunt and change of topic.

"Ready to head home, Lois?" He pushed his chair back from the desk and offered a smile.

Standing up, she smiled and walked over. Sitting with one hip on the edge of his desk had become such a habit. It felt so natural and comforting to be near him. "I don't need a babysitter to walk home, Clark. Let's go do something fun."

"Like what?" He smiled and stood, pulling on his coat.

"I don't know. It's Friday night." She popped up and smiled. "There's a bowling alley around the corner."

He frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea with your hand?"

Rolling her eyes, she heaved a sigh. "That was three months ago, and the doctor cleared me six weeks ago."

"But still. What if we get ice cream instead?" A wrinkle of worry marred his brow.

"Clark," she groaned.

"Alright," he sighed, "half a game."

"Worry wart." She grabbed her coat. "And you can't throw super hard and cheat." Maybe he'd open up about his abilities if she teased.

No response.

Oh no. It'd made him shut down.

When she turned, he was smiling. "No cheating. Got it." He winked.

It was a pleasant surprise to see him not get self-conscious. A blush crept up from his wink.

He held her coat up for her to put on, graciously not commenting on the blush.

At the bowling alley, he threw another strike.

"No! You're cheating!" She stomped a foot but couldn't hide the smile.

He laughed, the happiest laugh heard from him yet. "No, I promise I'm trying not to."

"Oh, trying _not to_? _Trying_? I'm not the little woman who needs special treatment!" Her mouth fell open with a laugh.

Clark chuckled and held his stomach. "You were just telling me to not throw it hard!"

"That's different! Alright, my turn." She spun around away from where she'd followed him up the lane and picked up the ball in the return. The moment she lifted the weight, pain shot up her wrist and caused a gasp.

Clark ran over and took the ball. Then he cradled her hand and his eyes started to glow.

"Clark!" Ripping her hand away, she pushed his arm to turn him away from prying eyes.

His eyes returned to normal. "What? I'm just checking that you're alright. It's too soon for you to be doing this. I was right," he muttered.

He knew those words drove her nuts. "You are _not_ right!" But no protest came as he gently massaged her palm, making the pain disappear. And her heart flutter.

"Your tendon is inflamed. Let's go home and watch a movie." His arm wrapped around her waist and guided toward their seats where their coats waited.

"And whose place is 'home'? Clark, I can do that," she protested when he knelt and untied her bowling shoes.

"Your hand needs to rest. We can go to your place so then you don't need to walk home late."

Rolling her eyes put up a tough front, but it was nice to not walk alone in the dark anymore. And it was so perfectly sweet that he knelt at her feet and slipped her shoes on, like Prince Charming for Cinderella. She blinked. That was _not_ a good road to go down, and she was _not_ a helpless woman waiting for some man to come rescue. "Thanks," she muttered, grabbed her things and headed for the door without waiting to see if he followed.

He caught up and slowed his trot at the door. "You know what?"

She grunted, not in a good mood now.

"I think it's good for you to have other people do things for you. Just because I tied your shoes doesn't mean you're not independent." He chatted as if it was the weather up for discussion.

Throwing him a sideways glare, she kept marching.

"Oh, I see. You just realized I'm a whole-hearted chauvinist." He chuckled when she threw him a look. "Lois, someday a man is going to sweep you off your feet and not care about proving your independence every second of every day."

If only she wasn't invisible to that man.

* * *

"It's cold," she yawned and curled up against him on the sofa during the movie.

He pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and tucked her in, ensuring a barrier.

"Oh. Thanks." She sat up and scooted away a few inches at his obvious determent. Clearing her throat, she got up and headed for the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Lois."

"I think I have popcorn too. Do you want some?" Opening the refrigerator, the cold air offered reprieve from cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Lois." His voice held patience, and the refrigerator door closed. He stood on the other side. "I didn't mean you can't lean against my shoulder."

A forced smile pasted on. "I was just tired and didn't realize I was falling asleep."

He nodded. "It's late. I should go home." When he turned and grabbed his coat from the kitchen chair, he paused.

Her heart sped up. He believed so strongly that he was an outcast and shouldn't find love. There were moments of catching him watching from his desk, or he would hand over a paper but hang on a second too long. He had to feel it too. Just go up and kiss him. If he turns around, just kiss him.

But he picked up his coat and went straight for the door. "Good night, Lois," he said over his shoulder and walked out.

Running to the window, she flung it open just as he went down the front steps. "Clark!"

The man turned, snowflakes dusting his dark hair and the broad shoulders of his dress coat.

"Good night, Clark."

A smile lit up his face. "Sweet dreams, Lois."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Their relationship is supposed to still be disjointed and choppy and confusing at this point because we're seeing it from Lois's perspective, and Clark is still very guarded. Those of you who have read my other stories have likely noticed the character relationship isn't at the depth of my other stories. This is on purpose, for now. :) Lois is supposed to be stumbling a little in self-confidence because Clark brings out a softer side in her that she's never really experienced, and he still stumbles with every step he takes. The strong Lois and the confident Clark/Superman that we know are still being born. :)**

* * *

When a knock came at the front door early the next morning, she frowned. A glance through the peephole revealed Clark. He was twenty minutes early.

She opened the door and stepped back. "Hey. Come in. I'm not quite ready yet." Pulling the robe together tighter, a blush crept up. It shouldn't have being he'd seen her in pajamas the first two nights after surgery.

"I woke up early and thought we could have breakfast quick." He smiled and held up a white bakery bag. "Muffins."

"Oh." He never sprang surprises. A smile bloomed. "Sure. Let me go get dressed quick." Darting to the bedroom, she swung the door shut and scurried across the bed to the closet. A sweater? No, a suit would be better for interviewing an eye witness to a murder. Hurry, hurry. How odd that Clark didn't avoid her after last night's awkward conversation. Snatching the hairbrush off the dresser, she yanked it through her hair.

A knock on the bedroom door. "Lois? Take your time." The man had a slight chuckle in his voice that came through the barrier.

She froze, completely mortified. "Are you watching?!" Marching to the door, she yanked it open.

Clark held up his hands. "No, I could hear you yanking your hair." He pointed to his ears. "I wouldn't look at you changing," he snorted.

Her eyebrows rose.

"Er, I mean, not like a man wouldn't want to look at you, I just, uh..." He pulled at his neck collar.

Folding her arms over her chest, she cocked an eyebrow. "I think you should stop talking."

He frowned and stood taller. "A gentleman doesn't peep." The man gave a decisive nod and straightened his suit coat.

"Oh."

Before another word could be uttered, he reached up and gave a soft stroke through her hair. "You have a broken bristle in your hair," he said softly and his eyes locked with hers. He held up the tiny plastic piece and then cleared his throat. "I'll, um, go get the table set."

Closing the door, she leaned against it and released a deep breath. It took several minutes for her heart to beat normally again.

* * *

"How was I supposed to know these guys were crooked for the mayor?" The metal chains nearly cut off breathing. "Are you going to bust us out of here, or not until they blow our heads off?" She flung her head to get her hair out of the line of sight to the door.

He gave a look over his shoulder. "Sure, why don't I just show them how I can run fast too?"

She heaved a sigh. "Clark, now would really be a good time if you kinda feel like being really strong," she snapped. Sometimes he was such a rookie. More than six months on the job, and he still couldn't sense lethal danger. Wiggling against the restraints with Mr. Hard Body tied against her back didn't work so well either.

"If I pull against the chains, it'll crush you. Besides, they have guns, and I don't know if I'm faster than a bullet." His head shifted against the back of hers, as if he looked at the gun rigged up to fire if they stood.

Her head fell back against his shoulder. "Ugh! Clark, stop being a baby and either run or break the chains. I'm willing to risk either."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't feel like crushing _or_ putting a bullet in you. I guess I'm picky," he spat.

God, the man could worry worse than anyone in the world.

Two of the gunmen came back. "Let's get rid of the broad. We can use the man to move the moneybags before we kill him."

"Clark," she whispered in a panic as the men approached.

"I heard. I won't let them hurt you," he whispered.

The man came around with a gun aimed and a sick smile on his face. "Say goodbye, babe."

The world went black.

Breathing hurt. Blinking, she squinted in the sunlight and looked around. Her bedroom.

"Lois." Clark sank down on the edge of the bed. He stroked her cheek.

"What happened?"

"He was going to shoot you. My muscles grew in reaction, and when it broke the chains, I think it compressed your chest so much that you fainted."

Pushing up to a sit, the ache in the ribs caused a grimace. "How long was I out?"

Clark helped prop pillows behind. "A couple minutes."

She frowned. "Did you get them?"

"I did—"

"How did you get me here and make sure they were arrested in two minutes?" A gasp cut through the last word as she tried to shift and ribs protested.

The man grinned. "What can I say? I'm faster than a speeding bullet."

She flung up a hand. "Great. This is just great. A big story, and I'm unconscious for the ending."

He frowned. "But, we're partners. I can fill in the parts you missed."

"Yeah, I guess." A sigh of disappointment caused a wave of rib pain and a whimper.

"You're hurt? I did an x-ray to make sure your ribs didn't break." He sounded worried and lifted her shirt to expose her ribs. "Oh, Lois, I'm sorry."

Purple bruise lines ran side to side.

In the blink of an eye and gust of wind, he set ice packs on.

She frowned. "Did you just leave and come back?"

He froze,a distant look in his eye. "Lois, there's a bank robbery. Someone was shot."

"Clark, you can't just keep running off to save people. You're going to get caught!"

A burst of wind and he was gone.

Sometimes he could be an idiot.

* * *

At work the next day, Perry grinned across his desk as he set down the story draft. "This is gonna knock their socks off! The mayor doing money laundering and The Daily Planet was right there to see it!" Then he pointed at her. "Are you being careful? I don't want a story to be how my reporter got shot. Clark, she has a nose for trouble. You keep an eye on her."

Clark grinned and set a hand on her back, giving a pointed look over the fact that Chief repeated his own words. "I am, sir."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed his hand away and walked out. "This isn't some 1950s, 'little woman' era," she huffed and plopped in her chair, wincing when the bruised ribs protested.

He followed and leaned his hands on the side of the desk. "We just worry. Lois, I really think you need to stay home and rest."

"I can be just as miserable here."

A small breeze and he set an ice pack in her hand.

Her eyes flew to his. "You can't go running around like that," she hissed. "Get in the conference room." Grimacing against the pain of getting up, his proffered hand was accepted.

"In the conference room, she shut the door. "You are getting more and more free about doing what you please wherever you please," she snapped.

The man folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. "And that matters because...?"

"You're going to get caught, Clark!"

"I'm not going to get caught, worry wart." He cracked a smile like he was up to no good. "I'll stop if you go home and rest."

Her jaw dropped. "That's not fair, and you know it!"

His hands slid into his pockets, the smile spreading into a grin. "I drive a hard bargain when you're stubborn. Look, you can work from home, just give your ribs a break."

The irritating man served as an escort home too.

"I wasn't going to run off for a story, you know." The words muttered in a bitter tone.

He cleared his throat. "I know. There's no harm in making sure you get home alright."

Now seemed as good a time as any to bring things up. "Clark? Why won't you talk to me anymore about your abilities?"

It could be felt - the wall he slammed up. "We're just friends, and it doesn't need to matter."

Stopping on the sidewalk, she turned to him. Tension lined his face. It was hard to work up the courage to get the words out, to risk the vulnerability and rejection. "Are we always going to be just friends?"

All emotion fled his face. "Of course." Then a smile touched his lips. "Stop being silly, Lois. Come on, I have to get back to the office." He resumed walking, not even seeming to realize the hurt he'd just inflicted.

Swallowing back the tears, she followed. He was right, she kept having these childish dreams of sharing everything with him. Friendship had grown to him being the first one she called when in need of anything - even catching a mouse in the kitchen one night. Every thought or feeling could be blurted to him, everything shared with him. Her footsteps slowed as it dawned. He never called her for anything, never shared his most intimate thoughts. If he'd been back to Dr. Klein these past months, he didn't admit it. Oh god, she was being...needy and clingy. He clearly wasn't interested in a best friend relationship, much less a romantic one.

The humiliation kept her silent the rest of the way home as he absently chatted about nothing.

"Thanks for walking me home." The front steps came into view.

"Oh. I can walk you to your door."

"No, really, I'm fine." Friends didn't do that, and it was time to start following friend boundaries herself instead of throwing herself at him.

He pressed his lips together and frowned. "Lois, I insist. It might hurt climbing stairs."

Half way up the stairs inside, every breath hurt from the movement, which made laboured breathing, which made the pain worse and caused more laboured breathing.

"Lois, just let me carry you," he fretted again.

"It's fine. I just need a break." Stopping on the mid-way landing and holding an arm tight around her middle helped ease some of the pain.

"Lois," he warned and stepped forward to pick her up.

She held out a hand. "It's fine." Forcing the herself up the last flight, relief washed over at reaching the top.

Around the corner of the hall at her door, a man stood there with a bouquet of flowers.

"Can we help you?" Clark sounded a bit tense.

The man turned.

"Ben?" She blinked. "I didn't recognize you without the uniform."

Ben frowned. "Lois? Why are you out? I came to check on you since Clark said he took you home because you fainted on the scene yesterday."

Before she could answer, Clark stepped in. "I brought her home because she needs to rest."

Ben's eyes filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Just bruised ribs. I'll be fine." She slipped past him, unlocked the door and turned to face them.

"Do you need anything?" Ben handed over the flowers.

"Ohhh, Thank you." A genuine smile broke free. "I - "

"I'll get her settled in," Clark interrupted.

"I'm off duty today. You can head back to work. I'll take care of her," Ben cut in and clapped Clark on the shoulder.

Clark looked a little distraught.

"Lois," Ben said, completely ignoring Clark, "when you're feeling better, I'd like to take you out to dinner."

She blinked and glanced at Clark. There was both elation at being asked on a date and sadness when Clark simply looked away without any kind of protest. Friendship was all Clark wanted. The sooner this crush on Clark could be squashed, the better. "I'd like that. Thank you. I'm going to go get ice and lie down."

"Oh! Of course!" Ben seemed to have forgotten why she'd come home early. "I'll - "

Clark shoved forward, practically running her over as he pushed his way inside. "I'll help you get ice packs, Lois. Thanks for stopping by, Ben." Then Clark shut the door in his face and set a hand on the small of her back, forcing her toward the kitchen.

"Clark! That was rude! And I don't remember asking you for help."

He snorted. "You're obviously out of your mind with pain. You can't go out with him." He started digging in the freezer.

"Why not?" She pulled off her coat, hissing when it aggravated her ribs.

Clark shot over in a blur and helped ease it off. "Because he's Ben! Do I have to spell it out?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Apparently."

The man rolled his eyes. "He's a little chauvinistic. Being a cop, he'd yell at you every time you got into trouble."

"And you don't?" She eased into a chair at the counter.

"I'm right in it with you, so at least I can keep an eye on you!" He plopped an ice pack on the counter and started making a second one.

"You seem kinda upset about this. It's a date, not a marriage proposal."

He spun around and gave a dark glare. Flinging the freezer door shut, he caught it when it made the whole refrigerator tip forward. Then he slammed the ice tray down on the counter, making the ice cubes bounce out all over. "Dammit!" He picked them up off the floor and dumped them in the sink. "I just can't believe he's had a change of heart after all these years! He's up to something!" He filled the ice tray with water and then blew to freeze them.

That stung. "Because it's impossible for anyone to want to date me, right?"

A scowl marred his features. "I did not say that."

"You didn't have to." The words breathed out with enough sadness to be indecipherable to human ears. Without looking at him, she slowly got up while holding her side and went into the bedroom, silently shutting the door.

A few days of recouperating at home didn't bring any sign of Clark. The date with Ben came and went.

Two days back in the office, and Clark was even more withdrawn like he felt...sad. It seemed lonely walking to and from work without him too. Reclining back in her seat, she watched him typing. He'd been forcing social smiles the past two days, a real one not once touching his lips.

"Lois!" Jimmy came over with a bouquet of daisies. "These came for you." He set them on her desk and grinned.

Jimmy seemed completely oblivious to Clark glance up just long enough for grief to flit across his face.

"Well? Who are they from?" The young photographer smiled, as anxious as a child with a wrapped present.

Dragging her eyes from Clark, she picked up the little card tucked inside. "Jimmy, a woman getting flowers is private." Dread clutched. Probably more flowers from Lex. Clark would be happy getting to grind them up.

"Not when he sends them to your work!" He grinned.

Her stomach dropped. Ben.

Clark had already resumed typing at his computer, like he knew. Maybe he'd used his x-ray vision to see inside the card.

"Jimmy, would you excuse me?" Without waiting for a response, she walked over to Clark's desk and tugged his arm on the way past to the conference room.

When he followed behind, she shut the door. "What's going on?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.

"You're avoiding me the past week. You aren't even walking me home." She folded her arms.

His eyebrows shot up. "You said you didn't need it!"

"I don't!"

"So, what's the problem?!" He threw up his arms.

"You're avoiding me!"

"How am I avoiding you?! We went on an assignment yesterday!"

"You know exactly what I mean!"

Jimmy popped in. "Are you guys okay? There's a lot of yelling."

"Yes!" Clark snapped at the same time as her.

Jimmy darted out.

A sigh of defeat, and Clark ran a hand through his hair in that self-conscious gesture - that gesture which made her heart ache almost as much as when he'd stick his hands in his pockets.

Stepping forward, she caught his arm and lowered it. "Don't. Don't look like you'd give anything not to be in your own skin." She searched his face.

It had to be imagined, but regret flashed through his eyes before he stepped back. "Was he at least a gentleman to you?"

"Who? Oh, Ben? Yeah, it was fine."

His jaw muscles clenched.

"Clark? Why are you shutting me out?" It hurt so much more than it should.

He heaved a sigh and looked away. "Lois, it's better this way."

"Why? What did I do that repulses you so?"

Those blue eyes held hers for but a moment, some kind of emotion flitting through too fast to read. "You could never repulse me," he whispered.

"Clark! You're speaking in code. Why won't you talk to me? Why aren't we friends anymore?" Tears threatened.

He stepped closer and cupped her face, brushing one stray tear away with his thumb in a gentle caress that should've been impossible with his rock hard touch. "I'm an alien, Lois," he breathed in the softest tones. "I can do things now that would frighten you. I couldn't bear it if you were scared of me."

"But I won't be scared. You wouldn't hurt me." She set a hand on his chest as his hand grew softer on her cheek. These moments when he trusted and opened up were so comforting, so...perfect, like finding something that had been missing and it made everything complete again.

His eyes looked deep into hers for the first time. "I would never try to hurt you. When you feel these emotions like you're having now, I can sense them in you. I like feeling like I fit in when I'm with you, how you're not afraid or disgusted by things I can do. But, I also know that I'm not meant to have that." He slowly withdrew his hand.

She frowned. "What do you mean? Why would you think you're supposed to be alone?"

His gaze tore away. "We need to get back to that story Perry assigned. I'm glad you had a good time with Ben." Those last words came out flat, and he headed for the door.

"Now, wait a minute." Grabbing his arm, she stumbled when it didn't slow him.

In the next instant, she fell against his hard chest instead of his back, and those thick arms wrapped around to catch her. Irritation and breathlessness both fought to get out on top. "You can't walk away whenever it's a conversation that gets too close," she ordered, albeit a bit breathlessly. It was hard to want to pull free while looking up into those beautiful blue eyes.

"And you're going to stop me?" An amused smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

Straightening to get off of his chest, she smoothed a hand over her suit jacket and tilted up her chin. "Yes. I think you're jealous but won't admit it because you're being a coward over what my response would be." She folded her arms.

One black eyebrow rose up and up and the smile dropped dead. "Oh really? By all means, enlighten me, Ms. Lane." A hard edge crept into his voice.

Oh dear, he was going to be difficult. "You're pushing me away because you got too close and God forbid, started to feel something. Just because you're different doesn't mean it's some kind of curse. Think of all the good you could do for the world, like how you saved that lady from being murdered or stopped that bomb—I still think it was stupid to put it in your mouth to blow up. You could've blown your head off."

"I found it two seconds before it was going to blow us up!"

Rolling her eyes, she continued. "My point is," she set both hands on his chest, "whatever they said before taught you to be afraid of yourself, to see yourself as someone who shouldn't belong."

He pulled her hands off, so much anger and hurt rising that his chest heaved with emotion. "I'm another species. I may not be physiologically compatible to give someone a family. What woman would want my eyes to turn black and body to change molecular density when I kiss her? How would it not terrify her to lie next to something that could roll over and crush her? Wha—"

Pressing her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his neck while standing on her toes came as naturally as breathing. The feel of his body softening against hers somehow beckoned a desire to protect him as his body grew vulnerable.

The man melted in her arms and pulled her closer.

"Hey, Clark! I—" Jimmy's voice cut through.

Clark's head jerked back before he spun away, but not before catching a glimpse of his eyes dilated to black. "I'll be there in a minute, Jimmy," he said over his shoulder, keeping his face out of view.

"Uh, okay..." Jimmy looked from her to Clark in confusion. "Are you guys dating?"

"No. Jimmy, go, please," she ordered and walked over to close the door.

His eyes were back to normal when he turned. "Don't pull a stunt like that again," he snapped and marched toward the door.

She stepped in his path, forcing him to a halt. The man looked mighty angry. "If you'd pull your head out of your ass, maybe you could take Jimmy's advice!"

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," she retorted and jerked the door open and stormed out.

"Lois! Clark!" Perry called from his office doorway, "There's a fire at the old Luther Inc. warehouse! It's said to still have some national treasures inside. Get over there!"

Clark started to head for the back door.

"Where are you going? You don't have your laptop or—"

He leaned in for private conversation. "I'll go help the firefighters put it out. I'll meet you there."

Before a protest could be made to be carried at super speed with him, he was gone.

The building had smoke billowing out, but no flames when the taxi pulled up. Clark came trotting around from the side, a couple soot marks on his face.

"Are you alright?" She pointed to the marks.

He rubbed them off and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. "Yes. I scanned and found signs of arson, but I can't show the fire marshall."

"Why?"

"Because they're still putting out remaining flames. There'd be no way for me to have seen it yet," he whispered.

"We'll hang around until we can go in." She shrugged.

Distress strained his face. "No, Lois, it's on the third floor in the center of the building. The stairs and elevators are too fragile to get up there."

That did pose a problem.

"I've never seen a fire just burn out that instantly," one of the firemen walking past said to another.

Her eyes flew to Clark. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him far away from ears and spun on him. "What did you do? Did anyone see you?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "I blew cold air hard, and it extinguished the fire. Then I jumped up to each floor and repeated it."

Smacking a hand to her forehead, she groaned. "Harvard man, I know you're not stupid." Then she swung her purse to hit his shoulder. "Are you an idiot?!" she hissed. "What if someone saw? They're clearly going to investigate because that's not what fires do!"

His eyes narrowed above her head and expression stoned over to ice cold.

She followed his gaze and turned. Lex Luther walked toward them. Instinctively taking a step back from the monster, she bumped into Clark. His hand rested on her shoulder, growing heavier. This fear had to be shoved down because Clark was apparently starting to react to it.

"Lois, you're shaking," he whispered.

Nothing ever scared her. She never shook. "Don't react," she breathed in warning, even her voice quivering.

"I'm trying not to. You're safe. I'm right here." He straightened and took a step to her right so she wasn't between him and Lex.

"Lois, how are you?" Lex held out his arms with a slimy smile.

"You must be Lex Luther," Clark cut in and took a step forward with a hand outstretched, blocking Lex.

Surprise crossed Lex's face, but he nodded and shook Clark's hand. A grimace of pain and he pulled his hand free. "A strong grip you have there. You must work out."

"No, not really. Sorry, I don't realize my own strength sometimes." Something in Clark's tone aid it as a warning.

Apparently Lex caught it because he gave Clark a long, uncertain look. Then he stepped around Clark and gave an embrace.

Memories of that fist flying into her face flashed.

"Lois, you look as beautiful as ever." He let go but still stood far too close. "Did you receive the flowers?"

"Oh, were those from you?" Clark cut in again and stood awkwardly close, forcing Lex to take a step back. "These black, crushed roses arrived, so I threw them out for her. Ah well," he clapped Lex so hard on the shoulder that Lex nearly fell, "what can you expect from cheap florists?" He smiled.

Lex's face reddened. "They were from the best florist in Metropolis and imported from Europe." Then his eyes returned to her. "I'll send replacements."

"No, Lex," she protested.

"I insist."

"A gentleman doesn't insist upon a lady's protests," Clark cut in.

Lex turned to him in irritation. "And just who are you?"

"I'm her partner at the Daily Planet, Clark Kent." He took the opportunity to step back and set an arm around her shoulders, with a grin. And he didn't seem inclined to let go.

The nerves began to calm. Clark's proximity would keep Lex back, and he seemed more than capable at keeping Lex off balance in conversation.

Disgust flitted across Lex's face for a split instant. Then his eyes returned to her. "Would you like an exclusive interview, Lois?" He swept an arm back toward the warehouse. "The true Mona Lisa gone, the—"

"The Mona Lisa? Why did you have it?" She frowned and glanced up at Clark, who seemed to have eyes locked on Lex.

A smile snaked over his lips.

The flash of those cold, thin lips forced upon her caused a shiver.

Clark must've felt it because he rubbed her arm.

"Lois, I possess the originals of everything priceless and beautiful in the world. All but one thing." His gaze locked.

Every fiber of Clark hardened, as if picking up on Lex's hidden desire to also possess her.

"We actually have to get back to the Daily Planet to finish up another story before deadline," Clark answered. "We'll let you know if we decide on that interview. Lois and I are partners, so we make decisions together. And I go wherever she goes."

Lex's eyes darted to Clark and narrowed at that warning. Just as fast as anger flashed through Lex's eyes, it was replaced with a forced smile. "Well, it was a pleasure." He overlooked Clark's outstretched hand and leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek.

Every muscle tensed in a panic.

Clark suddenly sneezed, his head whacking right into Lex's temple.

"Ow!" Lex straightened before reaching her and rubbed his head. The man looked slightly dazed.

"Sorry, I'm told I have a thick skull." Clark rubbed his own forehead. "We'd better get going. Get some ice for that." Then Clark swept her away.

She glanced back to see Lex sway. "Clark, I think you gave him a concussion."

"He'll live, so I don't care." He kept up a rapid walk. The moment they got out of sight, he scooped her up and ran.

A block before the Daily Planet, he stopped in an alley and set her down, leaning his hand near her shoulder, on the side of the building. "What the hell did he do to make you that scared?" Clark sounded angry.

"Nothing. It's not your business either."

"Oh, it sure is when I'm you're partner and you're practically trying to press yourself inside of my body. Did he hurt you?"

"Clark, it doesn't matter. I'm not with him—"

"Lois," he said, the anger fleeing his tone, "I want to know what I need to protect you from."

No man needed to protect her. "I don't need—"

"Maybe not, but you very much want it," he said softly. "I want to protect you from him. Please, Lois."

The fear came back with the memories. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared at the ground. "He got angry over dinner at his house one night. He didn't like that I wanted to wait for marriage, but even he isn't enough of a monster to force himself on a woman. When he kissed me and I pushed him away, he punched me. I think he went into a rage because he just started punching and kicking and screaming. He snapped out of it all the sudden and apologized. He called his private physician, but he locked me in his bedroom, insisting that he'd nurse me back to health. It took a week for me to escape."

"And physically? How badly did he hurt you before he snapped out of it?" He didn't touch, but his voice held so much compassion and gentleness.

She swallowed hard. The humiliation was too strong to meet his eyes. "A fractured cheekbone, concussion, broken rib, and internal bleeding that stopped itself without needing surgery."

His eyes narrowed and his finger reached to stroke over her temple but didn't touch. "And stitches. You have a long scar hidden in your hair."

"I fell against the counter," she whispered.

"Will it frighten you if I touch you?"

Forcing down a lump in her throat, she shook her head.

His arms wrapped around. "You're safe now, Lois. I won't let him hurt you. I wish you would've told me before so I could've given a better handshake."

That won a small laugh and she let go. "If you break his hand, he'll probably sue you enough for the next five lifetimes."

But he didn't laugh. "That's why you said he owns half the police force—you tried going to the police, didn't you?" A sigh escaped him when she didn't reply. "I gave you my cell number to put in your new phone, right?"

She nodded and looked up. Worry wrinkled his brow.

"You call me, even if you think you dreamed hearing a noise during the night, got it?"

Another nod. Although, it seemed odd that he wanted to be called but didn't mind her walking home alone in the dark.

"I have a confession." He stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped back. "I, uh, I've been following you to and from work." Then he held up his hands and added quickly, "But just to make sure you don't get attacked. Not in a creepy, stalker-following-you way."

Some of the hurt faded that he hadn't completely abandoned her. "You don't have to sneak around. If you prefer we don't talk—"

"No, it's not you, Lois." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Clark, I'm so confused. You avoid me like the plague, but then you say you're making sure I get home and to call you in an emergency...I have no idea what's going on."

He threw out his hands. "I don't know what to do about this! You should be utterly freaked out by me!"

She blinked. "Clark, we've been through this!"

"I know it! Oh, screw it." Then he rushed forward and captured her face in his hands, pushing her back against the hard cement building. His lips crushed down on hers.

There was passion and tenderness, and he didn't even seem to care that his body softened to mold against hers. Blood rushed in her ears at the wild thundering of her heart. His arms wrapped around, like a cocoon of protection.

When he broke the kiss, she clung to his shoulders as the world slowly righted itself and her breathing slowed.

He turned his head away but didn't let go, and blinked hard like he tried to reverse his reaction.

Touching his chin, she guided his eyes back. They were completely dilated and his breathing slightly heavy. "You don't have to hide. Does light hurt?" He squinted.

Clark nodded. "All I can see is white."

Withdrawing her hands, she eased his arms free. "Don't touch me, and maybe it'll go away faster."

He leaned a hand against the building and bowed his head as his shoulders fell. "I can't even kiss you right," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me—"

"Clark?" It was time to have an honest conversation that had been danced around for almost six months. "Do I make you miserable?"

His head whipped to her, those blue eyes almost back to normal. "Why would you think such a thing?" His brow furrowed.

Clasping her hands together, she drew a steadying breath. "I see you around other people. You laugh and smile and joke. But with me...you seem self-conscious and ashamed and are always apologizing, like you're miserable around me." Swallowing hard, every muscle braced for the confirmation that he wanted a new partner, wanted to leave Metropolis, wanted to never hear from her again.

His hand dropped from the wall and he searched her eyes. "I'm self-conscious because you're the one whose opinion matters most." He looked away, and his cheeks grew pink. "You know I have physical reactions to you. I don't know why they don't freak you out—they do me. I don't even know what I am, but Dr. Klein knows for certain now that I'm not human. I'll never fit in, and people can't find out about my...abilities." He finally met her eyes. "You feel like home, Lois. And I don't want to do anything to frighten you. You're smart and funny and kind, and your stubbornness drives me insane," he cracked a smile, "and I've never felt like this toward anyone. I've never even wanted to kiss a woman, until you." Then he hesitated and stuck his hands in his pockets and closed his mouth, as if realizing he'd said too much.

"I've never had this kind of attraction either. I never let things get to me, but I can't sleep some nights, thinking you're just going to not show up to work one day because you went back to Kansas. I never cry, but it seems to just come out when I'm around you because it feels safe. I don't want us to not be friends."

His shoulders fell and expression stoned over. "Friends." He nodded and looked away. "Yes, of course."

"You said that's all you wanted." Dread crept up like that had just been the final nail in the coffin somehow.

"That's for the best. We'd better get back to the office." He turned and started walking out of the alley.

She stared after him. He didn't even seem to realize that he'd taken her heart and set it at his feet, only to walk on it the moment he'd walked away.

"Lois." He turned at the entrance and waited, like it was just another day and she was just any other coworker.

* * *

"Perry, I need a new partner."

The editor in chief looked up from his desk that afternoon. "What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?"

She closed the door and stood on the other side of his desk, her chin high. The walk back to the Daily Planet had been silent and painful, and Clark being oblivious to the hurt had only made it worse. That had been gotten through without tears, so this could too. "I stuck him out for six months, which is longer than the week we agreed on." Tears pricked behind her eyes.

"Lois, honey, if this is some kind of spat, go talk to Clark. You two are the best reporters I have, and you're perfect together. I'm not splitting you two up."

The door banged open and Clark barged through, slamming it shut behind himself. "New partner?!" His eyebrows shot up and he stopped to her right.

Perry frowned. "Clark, how did you hear us?"

"Uh, she mentioned she might come to you about it today," he lied. Then he folded his arms over his chest and gave her an expectant look.

The hurt was replaced with anger. He had no right to be upset about it when all he did was push her away. "As if you don't think it's awkward working together. It's getting in the way of work—"

"Excuse us, chief." Clark practically shoved her out the door and into the conference room next door.

He closed the door and whirled on her, setting his hands on his hips. "Are you kidding me? Lois, we're partners! You talk to me about something like this first!"

"I tried talking to you! Once again, you shut down and walked away when you decided you were done with the conversation!"

The man leaned forward, his eyes spitting mad. "When?! I don't recall a conversation about getting new partners!"

"In the alley, I tried getting you to talk to me about why you seem miserable—"

He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Is this woman code or something? When there's a problem, just say it! 'Clark, I want a new partner' would've been a good start!"

"Oh! Oh! Just like you say when you're upset about something?! 'Lois, kiss me, no stay away, let's watch a movie, no I'm not walking you home.' In what world is that communication?!"

"One where I'm trying to watch for you because you don't seem to know what's best for you!" He thrust a finger at his chest. "For some asinine reason, you don't even seem to have basic survival skills to avoid something not human!"

"What?! I don't need someone watching out for me!"

The door opened and Perry stuck his head in. "You two settle down or take it outside. The whole newsroom hears your yelling."

"Don't worry, we're done," she snapped and stormed past Clark for the door.

Perry blocked it. "You work this out. I'm not having my paper suffer because of a spat."

"We did, Perry," Clark ground out from behind, "we need new partners." Then he swept through the door without a backwards glance.

* * *

It'd been three days of not working together. Clark had moved to the other side of the newsroom closer to his new partner, not once even glancing over despite his desk facing hers.

Working alone had always been perfect to write the perfect stories, but it seemed...lonely not having Clark at interviews or sitting together over the laptop to find just the right word. She stayed late each night to avoid going home and wallowing. He left by six o'clock each night, without paying her any notice.

He got up and put on his sports coat, heading toward the elevators. No one else was in the office. Seven o'clock.

Sticking her nose in the computer to ignore the hurt of yet another day of him acting like she no longer existed, she stared at the screen. Five sentences. It was supposed to be a front-page story for yesterday. Perry wouldn't push deadline one more day. The cursor blinked on the screen as blank as her heart felt at the moment.

A cup of coffee set down on her desk.

She looked up. "Clark."

"I've got a late night and figured you probably do too." He took a sip from his own cup.

"Yeah. Thanks." She picked it up and took a sip. Cream and two sugars, just the way she liked it. The fact that he'd noticed what she liked only made the ache worse.

"Well, I'd better get back to it." He got five paces away.

"How's it going with your new partner?" Blurting the first thing that came to mind, and it had to be that question? "I mean, Paul is a good writer, so you probably like working with him."

He turned and came back, resting his hip on the side of her desk. "He is a good writer." Then he shrugged. "Are you happy to be solo again?"

 _Miserable. Lonely. Sad. Bored._ She shrugged.

"Paul's not you." He straightened and took another drink.

She cracked a smile at that well-deserved sting. "Yeah, no arguing or grammar to clean up. Well, I'm glad you're liking it." Turning her attention back to the laptop would hopefully make him leave before he dug in the wound.

But he didn't move. "I never said I like it," he replied softly. "I'll leave you to your work." Then he walked away.

She stared at the screen as a tear slid down.

"Perry?" She knocked at his door the next day.

He looked up from where he edited the final hard copy of tomorrow's paper. "Lois, good timing. I wanted to talk to you. This story..." He shook his head. "Well, it's not good. You're better than this. What's wrong? Ever since you went back on your own, your stories don't have any life to them. Where's my Pulitzer Prize writer?"

She closed the door and sank into the chair. "I think I made a mistake."

"Wait, let me get a recorder out. I don't think I've ever heard you say that." The smile disappeared from his lips. "You're serious."

"Perry, I was mad at Clark and think I hurt his feelings when I requested a new partner. In truth, I'm miserable, but I can't ask him to trade again."

"Lois, The King can strike me down if I'm wrong," he said and pointed to a poster of Elvis on his wall, "but that boy has been head-over-heels crazy about you since the day he walked in here. He's been moping around too, and I'd bet a hound dog that he'd take you back as a partner in a heartbeat."

"A hound dog?" She frowned in confusion.

"Yeah. You ain't nothing but a hound dog," he said, breaking into Elvis's song.

She heaved a sigh. "He hasn't even looked at me all week until last night. I don't think he's gonna want to be partners again."

Perry kicked his feet up on his desk and folded his hands behind his head, with a grin, as he signaled for someone to come in.

Looking over her shoulder, mortification shot her to her feet. Clark got up from his desk and headed this way. "No, Perry, you can't! I came in to talk, not actually do anything!"

"Clark," Perry said as he came in, "Lois wants to ask you something." He grinned.

"No! I don't want to ask anything. No questions."

Clark gave her a long look, and then a tiny smile tugged the corner of his lip.

She gasped. He'd been listening!

"Clark, Lois wants you to be her partner again."

"Perry!" Oh god, this couldn't get any worse.

A stupid grin lit up Clark's face, and he folded his arms over his chest. "Does she now? Well, I don't know, Perry. Being at her beck and call like this isn't fair to Paul or myself. I mean, I'm not here for her to just decide 'no stay away, no come here, Clark.'"

Her eyes widened in a panic if he'd bring up the kiss, throwing her words back at her like this.

Perry belly laughed. "Lois, I think you've met your match. It's going to take a little bit of grovelling."

She marched past Clark and stormed out. The nerve of him! A walk out in the Spring air would help cool down to be ready for the interview with the chief of police this afternoon. Clark would see her leave in the elevator and take great satisfaction in irritating her. Best to go down the back hall and take the stairs.

Just as she reached for the handle, a small gust of wind and a hand held the doorknob. She glared up at him.

"I wasn't going to make you grovel." A smile glinted in his eyes.

"Good, because I wasn't going to ask you. This is clearly a much better arrangement than working together," she snapped.

"Lois, let me say something, and then you can go on hating me the rest of today." The smile faded from his eyes. "I never got to go through that awkward phase in high school of liking a girl but saying and doing the wrong thing. Honestly, girls never drew my attention, and I suspected there was something wrong because I didn't have interest in any gender... Can you not glare? This is embarrassing enough without you looking like you're going to kill me."

In all fairness, he did look uncomfortable with the conversation. Releasing a deep breath, she folded her arms and reined in her temper.

"Then at thirty, I meet a woman and start having all these emotions and reactions like some damn teenager."

"I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience."

"No, Lois," he let go of the door and set a hand on her arm, "I'm trying to explain what I should've a long time ago but was too embarrassed."

The tension melted, and she set a hand over his. He actually looked a little pale. "Clark, do you feel alright?"

"Yeah." His hand grew clammy. "I..." he swallowed hard, "All of this is so new to me. It seems stupid and juvenile, and I won't blame you if you laugh. I know I've been sending mixed signals. I value your friendship and don't want to jeopardize that. I like you. As a woman. I know I shouldn't because I'm not human and...and I'm babbling." He released a huge breath and pulled his hand away, as if he braced for rejection.

"Wait, you've been acting like this because you like me?"

He ran a hand through his hair and nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I know, it's juvenile and not sophisticated like a thirty-year-old man should be with sending you flowers or having the courage to ask you on a real date."

God, he looked painfully self-conscious as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to keep thinking that I'm picking you up and dropping you because I'm being a jerk." He forced his eyes up but couldn't quite meet her gaze. "I'm trying to figure out how to be your friend without wanting more. I don't expect you to say anything, or even to talk about this ever again. I promise I won't overstep bounds and kiss you again." Then he spun on his heel and hurried away with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Clark!"

But he kept going and turned the corner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: For the car scene, I listened to Code Name Vivaldi by Piano Guys. I heard that song in the car, and the scene wrote itself before I even reached my destination! :) The moment the wind hits is when the melody calms...you'll know when if you listen to the song. If this was made into a movie, that's the song I'd want for the scene. Love it when there's a perfect song that writes a scene.**

 **I'm excited to get this chapter up because Superman is getting closer. I'll go through and edit grammar tomorrow. :)**

* * *

He had left for an assignment by the time her brain had told her feet to go after Clark yesterday.

"Perry, I'm bringing Clark along on my interview for the police force corruption," she said, ducking her head in Perry's office but not waiting for a response.

Clark sat at his laptop, looking immersed in his story with Paul as she approached.

"Country boy, grab your stuff. We have an interview." She tossed a file with notes on his desk.

Clark looked up in surprise. "We?"

"Yeah," she said over her shoulder, "you want the police bust as my partner or not?"

With a grin, he grabbed his things.

He held the front door and fell into step with her on the sidewalk to the police station just a couple blocks away.

"You know what most men do? Ask a woman if she likes him back before deciding for her." She glanced from the corner of her eye.

A deep sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Lois, let's be real. It's not like anything could even happen because you're a woman and I'm...like E.T."

She stopped walking and spun on him. "You were raised by man and taught to think and act like a..." she looked around and lowered her voice, "human. So why is a relationship impossible?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Because I'm suddenly getting all of these abilities. I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up with two heads tomorrow! How on earth—and that's not a pun—is a woman supposed to want to be with that?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "You're so melodramatic."

"Gee, I wonder why anyone would be freaked out finding out they're an alien," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you going to mope, or are you going to finish asking me out?"

That seemed to give him pause. "I had no intention of doing that."

She sidestepped a bicyclist on the sidewalk. "Huh. Sure seemed like it"

"Nope." He set a hand on her back and nudged along to continue walking.

"Don't you want to know my response?"

"Nope, because it should be to run as far away as possible." He fell into line behind when the crowds grew thick.

Trying to look over her shoulder to talk only resulted in tripping over people until he took the lead instead. The man seemed determined to not continue the discussion.

Once it cleared enough to walk beside him, she set a hand on his arm. "Clark?" Nibbling the bottom lip helped think through how to phrase this. "You can tell me to shut up. It didn't hit me until the other day that I go to you a lot for...lots of things."

He frowned. "I want you to come to me for things. Am I impatient?"

"No, but I'm not doing well balancing it as a two-way street." She glanced at him.

A confused, blank look crossed his face for a moment. "Oh. You mean I don't come to you much, and you think it makes you come across as clingy."

"Well...yes."

A thoughtful sigh broke the pregnant pause. "I'm not used to needing anyone, but I don't mean for it to seem like you're a nuisance. I just have a lot of things going on right now medical-wise that are probably best for you to not know." He went up the police station steps and held open the door.

Stopping at the door, she met his eyes. It hurt to see him so alone. "I hope you find someone with whom you can share things like that, Clark, because I see how hard it is on you to shoulder." She set a hand on his arm and gave a squeeze before slipping through the door.

A deep voice spoke in a low, intimate tone near her ear from behind, "Talk with me afterwards?"

With a nod, she glanced back to find his gaze filled with quiet strength.

* * *

"And you feel no guilt, no hint of doubt that just maybe he wasn't going to shoot?" Clark asked the undercover policeman, his words clipped and losing more patience each minute.

"He had a gun," the older man replied.

"To which you neglected to identify yourself and tell him to drop his weapon before you shot! He was your partner! You knew he was going through the back to search! You killed a twenty-year-old!" Clark slammed down his notepad on the desk and shot to his feet.

Trying to tug him down didn't work, so she stood and patted his chest, with a smile to the leiutenant. "I think what my partner is trying to ask is how can you be sure it was self-defense?" Clark needed to settle down. It was clear this officer had set up and murdered his partner, but the man wouldn't let anything slip if he was on defense. "Clark, would you go get us some water?"

He gave the cop a warning look. Then he stepped out. And was back with water before she even got a full sentence out.

Giving him a look to go only resulted in him grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the room.

"Clark, what are you doing?" she hissed and jerked her arm free.

He turned and leaned down to whisper, "He's a killer and watching you like a hawk. I'm not leaving you alone."

A sigh of disgust. "Clark, thanks to you, he's figuring out that we know something."

The man hovered the rest of the interview and ruined the story.

"Well, excuse me if I don't leave you alone with a murderer who looks ready to strangle you," he snapped on the way back to The Daily Planet.

"You can't let your emotions get in the way of a story!"

"I sure as hell can when it's a murderer on the loose setting his eyes on you next!"

She threw up her hands. "You were the one grilling him and getting all huffy!"

"And yet did you notice it didn't bother him?! Because he was focused on you! I'm sleeping at your place until we get him arrested." He announced it like a law.

"Uh, no you aren't."

"Uh, yes, I am. He knows who you are and can easily figure out where you live. Lois, if my gut has ever been right, it's about this. He has his eye on you now because he knows you're about to bust him."

"You're as much of a target." She stopped and set her hands on her hips.

He pulled her aside on the sidewalk, worry filling every line of his face. "You're easier to take out as a warning to me. Just let me sleep on your couch."

* * *

It'd been two nights of Clark sleeping in the living room and no sign of anything about to happen, yet the evidence against the lieutenant built stronger every hour.

* * *

There it was again. An odd sound from the living room. One o'clock. Slipping out of bed, her heart pounded. It was nothing. Clark had every nerve paranoid. But, suddenly it seemed like a bad idea to have argued with Clark to not stay tonight.

Reaching the kitchen, the noise came again. The front door. Two male voices whispered. Terror froze every muscle. Oh god, someone tried to get in. Maybe Clark had been right.

The front door opened. Hallway light flooding into the living room. A gun poked around the door.

She darted into the bedroom. The door without making a sound, despite her shaking hands. Scrambled across the bed to her cell phone, she hit the contact number for Clark. A weapon. She needed a weapon until Clark came.

Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hi, it's Clark. I can't come to the phone, so please leave a message," the voicemail said.

"No," the whimper of panic only made more panic set in.

Footsteps creaked in the kitchen. They were coming.

The shaking intensified. The phone nearly fell. Dial again, maybe he was sleeping.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hi, it's Clark. I can't come..."

Oh god.

Shoving blankets under the covers made it look like a body. Crouching on the far side of the bed in the corner by the nightstand would buy a few minutes of hiding. Picking up the lamp and clinging so tight made knuckles feel ready to creak.

Hanging up on Clark's voicemail, her finger jammed down on the SOS button that automatically dialed 9-1-1.

Before the operator could answer, the bedroom door opened.

Her breath hitched. They'd surely see her.

Gunfire, muffled by a silencer, went off.

"I shot her."

"Go make sure she's dead." The lieutenant's voice.

The blankets pulled away on the bed. "She's not here."

"No, she's here. But she knows we are too," the cop said. The lights in the room switched on, the lieutenant standing right over her with the gun aimed. "Goodbye, Lois Lane."

"Claaaaaaark!" He wouldn't make it in time, but instincts didn't always listen to reason.

"No!" Clark's voice.

The cop jerked her up and held tight, pressing the gun to her head.

Clark stood in the bedroom doorway, his hair disheveled and he wore nothing but pajamas. "You don't have to shoot her." The thick glasses frames helped hide that his eyes were dilated. "Let her go, and you can walk out of here." Panic tinted his voice. He was faster than a speeding bullet, but was he fast enough for one pressed against her head?

A dark laugh filled her right ear. "You made my night easier. We were coming after you next. You can watch her die."

Dropping her weight made him drop her, just as the gun fired. A gust of wind and the room was empty.

Every muscle shook too hard to do anything but huddle on the floor. It was one thing to be drowned or blown up, but there was something much more frightening about a bullet nearly going through the brain.

Another gust of wind and he was on the floor, pulling her into his lap.

He was impossibly hard and it hurt to curl up to him, but it was worth the pain to feel safe. Tears burst free. "I called and called."

"I know, I know. The first call woke me up, and I saw it was you. I left by the time I heard the phone start to ring again." His body began to soften, and he gently rocked in a soothing rhythm. "It's all over. You're safe."

"Where are they?"

"I tied them up in the curtains." His hands stroked her back. "Shhhh, it's alright."

"I've almost been shot before..."

"In your bed in the middle of the night is a lot different than out somewhere doing a story. Come. It's empowering for you to see them get arrested so you won't be as frightened." He stood and set her on the bed. Then he took her robe from the end of the bed and helped put it on. He took her hand and led the way out.

Footsteps slowed in the kitchen, and her hand clutched his as the fear grew stronger.

His arm wrapped around, tucking her tight against his side. "I won't let them hurt you."

He was right. It did help chase some of the fear away to see the police haul them off in handcuffs.

After everyone was gone, she looked at him. It wasn't proper to ask him to stay, and it would only make everything seem worse to utter the words of needing to not be alone.

He closed the front door. "Do you want to sleep in your bed?"

The bullet hold would be a reminder. Shaking her head, she met his eyes.

Without another word, he took her hand and led the way to the sofa. In the blink of an eye, he was back with blankets from the bedroom. Once he had it all made up, he threw a larger blanket on the floor and sat.

She blinked. "You're sleeping on the floor?"

He shrugged. "I've slept on worse when doing stories in Africa. Come." He patted the sofa and then tucked her in.

During the night, nightmares real and imagined caused a violent awakening to tears already soaking the pillow. Clark's slow breathing filled the room in the dark, giving a calm rhythm for her heartbeat to follow.

Maybe Lex had been behind the crooked cop, perhaps even behind the attack tonight. Sometimes the law bent under the weight of money. There was one monster forever on the loose.

She glanced down at Clark's silhouette.

And only one man in Metropolis who didn't fear the monster.

Brushing the tears of terror from her eyes, she slipped down onto the floor between him and the couch. The tight fit and his uncomfortably hard body slated against her back didn't matter. It was safe here.

A long, sleepy sigh-hum filled the air, and his body began to soften. He roiled over and draped a heavy arm over her that grew lighter as the seconds passed. Despite no blanket, his body heat offered enough warmth as he spooned, keeping the chill of the Spring night at bay.

Movement against her back made the dreams fade into reality. She blinked at the early morning light filtering through under the sofa and frowned in confusion when a low, male groan broke the silence. Then it all came rushing back as the heat pulled away. She rolled onto her back.

Clark sat up, holding his back and grimacing. His eyes met hers. "Hi." He stood up and arched his back.

"Hi. Are you alright?" She rolled onto her back.

"Yeah. I think everything got soft being next to you. I get what people mean now about the floor being uncomfortable. Are you sore?"

She shook her head and sat up, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "I think I leaned against you during the night, so I'm okay. Sorry, I didn't think about it that you might get sore."

He shrugged and smiled. "It feels better already."

Her eyebrows rose. "How can it?" Standing up, she set a hand on his chest. Rock hard again. "Huh."

"Why did you come on the floor?" He picked up his fake glasses from the coffee table and slipped them on.

"I got myself scared." She reached up and slowly removed the glasses. "You should keep them off when it's just us."

"Why?" He frowned.

"Because you have nice eyes, and I can see them better without the frame shadow going across them."

The man blushed slightly and looked away. "Well, I bet Ms. Workaholic wants to go to work early since we're up?"

"What time is it?" She looked around for a phone or watch.

He looked to the kitchen microwave too far to see. "Quarter to six." Then he waited expectantly.

She blinked. "Just how far can you see?"

A sheepish look came over him. "If I zoom in, I can see a mile away."

Her jaw dropped. "So you saw me in the field that day?"

With a nervous scratch at the back of his neck, he mumbled, "I smelled you first."

Setting her hands she on her hips, she cocked an eyebrow. "And what other things can you do, Mr. Faker?"

"I don't fake things...usually," he added when she held up his glasses.

"Uh huh. Come on, let's go get breakfast."

It was his turn to blink. "You don't want to go to work early?"

"No, I want to have breakfast with you. Hurry up, go home and change." She headed for the bathroom and wasn't surprised when a gust of wind burst through the apartment. The window clicked, and she spun around. The curtains fluttered. He must've left through the window, the strange man. Next he'd be announcing he couldn't just jump far but fly.

He ordered a giant pile of waffles at the diner down the street.

Her eyebrows rose and a laugh escaped. "Do you have to eat a lot to keep up energy for...?" A pointed look filled in the blank as the waitress walked away. She picked up a fork and started eating her own cinnamon role.

"No, I don't have to eat." He cut a piece and took a bite.

The fork stopped half way to her mouth. He seemed oblivious. "Wait, what?"

He seemed happy as a clam with another tall forkful of waffles at the ready. "If it's raining for more than four days, I start feeling weak. I think I get energy from the sun. I've gone weeks without eating and didn't feel hungry." He took another big bite.

It took a moment for that to sink in. "So, you just eat for the heck of it?"

"To seem normal. And who doesn't like food?" He grinned.

"Oh."

His forkful stopped half way to his mouth and lowered. The smile faded. "I freaked you out, didn't I?"

"What? No, it just never occurred to me."

"It digests, like everyone else." He set down his fork, like now he was uncomfortable.

Time to lighten the mood. "I suppose you don't have to worry about fat and cavities and all that," she said dryly.

He didn't answer.

"Jerk. I look at a donut and put on weight." She sighed dramatically, "I guess I have to live vicariously through you." She stole a piece of his waffle. "I wanted both but couldn't eat it all; you can help finish my roll." She smiled.

The stress melted from his face, and he ate the waffle on his fork and then reached to her plate. The man cut off a chunk of roll. "I love cinnamon rolls, but I didn't want to look creepy ordering the same thing." He smiled and took a bite.

Her laugh made him break into a grin.

It seemed so natural walking down the street with him to work and chatting away. He glanced down and seemed distracted in the middle of conversation.

She stopped talking and followed his gaze. Her arm linked through his. "Oh, sorry, I was busy talking and didn't realize I did that." She pulled free.

"I don't mind, it just surprised me."

"Won't it make you react?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little, but I think our jackets may help be a barrier. I think I'm figuring out how to control it."

"Oh." That fact caused a pang of sadness for some reason.

"What?"

"I just...oh, it's kind of stupid." It was too embarrassing to admit.

"Tell me. Nothing you say could be stupid." A warm smile lit up his eyes behind the glasses. He pulled her arm through his again.

Swallowing down the burning embarrassment, she focused on the sidewalk. "I know it makes you vulnerable, but I'd protect you. It doesn't bother me when you do react."

His large, warm hand laid over her hand on his arm, and he bent his head down, making her gaze shift to him for private conversation. "I know you would, and I'm glad it doesn't frighten you. I want to be able to touch you in public without worrying if there's a thick enough barrier or who is watching. I know you try to always be mindful too, and I don't want there to always be that guard up." His eyes began to dilate and skin soften. He let go of her hand.

"Oh. I think I'd like it if there didn't have to always be high alert. I don't mind, though, if you don't want to fight it when it's just us."

He nodded. "Thank you, Lois. You're gracious in not making me feel like a freak."

"Because you're not a freak." She scowled.

"You know," he chuckled, "I think it's good you're a mere human, because I'd fear your temper more than I already do if you had capabilities."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him through the front doors at work.

* * *

The drive on highway roads in the country helped to clear her head. Three hours to go visit Mom for the weekend would be good for getting away from work...and a certain man who crept into thoughts more than he should.

But the escape hadn't come easily—an anonymous ransom note had arrived at The Daily Planet threatening her, and it'd set Clark on pins and needles. The man was cranky and hypervigilant, even trying to insist on sleeping in her living room. He'd finally conceded to her getting out of town for a while, if she left early when it wouldn't be expected.

So now she cruised down the highway at six o'clock Saturday morning with the radio blasting. The stress melted away.

A curve approached. Tapping the breaks didn't slow the car. Panic surged. The brake pumped without resistance. 69, 70, 71 miles per hour barreling down the tree-lined road.

Tires squealed as the car barely made the curve.

"No, no, no!" Oh god, every muscle clenched.

The gear shifter wouldn't budge.

The speedometer kept climbing. 75, 76, 77 miles an hour.

The key wouldn't pull out of the ignition to stop the car.

More turns would be coming up the road soon...and catapult the car straight into the trees. One turn of the wheel would be a fatal rollover crash. 80, 81, 82 miles per hour.

Someone had rigged the car. 83, 84, 85 miles an hour.

The woods grew thicker, closing in on the edges of the road.

Oh god, this was it. The road curved just over the hill. The trees would tear apart the car like shrapnel.

"Claaaaaaaark!" Every muscle braced for impact. Even if he heard from thirty miles away, he couldn't make it in time.

90, 91, 92 miles per hour. The hill was less than a half mile away. Oh god, oh god.

The car jerked, but didn't stop. Every rib protested being thrown against the seatbelt.

Clark bent over the front of the car, gripping the bumper.

His eyes were black. Every muscle bulged. His veins threatened to burst. A roar ripped from him.

The speedometer held steady at 79 miles per hour. A strange grinding came from the front of the car.

"Unbuckle!" he roared, fighting the car as it didn't even lose speeding shooting up the hill.

She hit the button.

He disappeared.

The door ripped off.

He hung onto the frame and pulled her out to press between him and the car. "Hold on tight!" he yelled over the wind whipping.

Trees ended the road straight ahead at the curve.

Her arms wrapped around his rock hard body and clung. The end of the road was coming too fast. Her face buried against him.

He trembled and then stilled. His arms wrapped around.

Wind shifted. It felt like inertia went from forward to upward. She raised her head.

The tops of trees soared past toward the ground.

A loud explosion from below.

Looking down, it didn't even quite register. Tops of trees passed just feet below at perhaps fifty miles an hour. Clark had jumped?

Then the wind shifted and he changed his grip to carry her across his arms as his body became parallel with the trees.

Breathing ceased. It couldn't be. He hadn't jumped—he flew.


	11. Chapter 11

The wind became a soft breeze as he gradually slowed speed. The tops of trees swept past below. It seemed as relaxing as a Sunday drive and yet as unbelievable as a fairytale.

Searching his profile, it didn't go without notice that his eyes had returned to normal and self-conscious tension lay in the lines around his mouth.

"Losen your grip–I'm not sure how much landing will shake you."

That seemed like an odd thing to say, but she loosened her grip around his neck all the same.

He straightened and aimed his feet at the ground. By twenty feet down, his body began to tremble hard. Ten feet from the ground, he vibrated so hard that it almost hurt to hold onto him. His face contorted at five feet, and he dropped the last several inches.

Her grip tightened on him out of instinct from falling, but he recovered and eased her onto her feet.

She took a step back and wrapped her arms around herself, the shock of flying causing a shiver in the warm morning air.

His eyes dropped to her waist like he was ashamed.

"Did you just...?"

A slow, hesitant nod answered.

"H, how long have you...?" The shock wouldn't let sentences form.

"Since that time you saw me rise a few inches."

Her eyebrows rose. "For months? You've known about this for months and didn't think to tell me?!"

No reaction.

"Why? How?"

His fingers shoved in his front jeans pockets, those blue eyes still downcast. "I didn't want to freak you out like this," he whispered. "I didn't want you to look at me differently." That self-conscious outcast from Kansas returned to stand before her instead of the confident, happy reporter whom had begun to bloom.

Stepping up to him, she set a hand on his chest and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I'm not looking at you differently; I'm trying to figure out how a man just _flew_!"

"Alien," he breathed in correction.

Holding up a hand in irritation, she gave him a look. "Oh, you did _not_ just go there. What, I'm supposed to just go about my day like this is an every day occurrence? How the hell can you even fly?"

He swallowed hard. "Dr. Klein says it's vibrations sent against the ground that overcome the gravitational pull. It's why I shake as I get closer to the ground—I have to increase the frequency." His cheeks burned in embarrassment.

The man looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die from shame. Anger boiled that he'd learned to be so disgusted with himself. "Stop it!" She shoved on his chest, and stumbled back a step from bouncing off his hard body. Pain shot up her wrist. "Ow," she hissed and grabbed her wrist.

He stepped forward.

"It's fine!" She shook her hand out.

"You want me to stop what?" Confusion wrinkled his brow. At least he didn't look ashamed, with the distraction.

She threw up her other hand. "Looking like I should run screaming from you! I hate that they made you so ashamed!" The rage burst out any way possible, even as tears stinging. "You're not some freak! You're beautiful, and I hate that you're scared to trust me!" The emotions died just as fast. Sniffling and holding fingers to her lips, breath stilled. That outburst had pushed him to far. He'd run at any second.

His head cocked, a frown of confusion squinting his eyes. "It upsets you this much that I'm uncomfortable with myself? I worry you will become nervous around me. It's not about trust, Lois. It's about not frightening you." He took a step forward and slowly reached out his hand, as if giving time to back away. Then he eased her against his hard chest in a hug.

Her arms wrapped around his solid steel and held tight, despite the discomfort of his hardness. "I see you suffer and try to hide it."

His body began to soften.

"You'd never hurt anyone, so I don't understand why you think I'd be afraid of you."

He sighed. "Lois, Dr. Klein thinks for some reason I didn't physically mature until meeting you and having those reactions—almost like puberty hit now, but for my...capabilities. I'm able to do more and more things, some of which even my mom says look scary."

Leaning back, she searched his eyes. "Then tell me about them first. It's only frightening if you use them for evil, but you wouldn't."

A soul-deep sigh escaped him this time. "You have so much faith in me, Lois. You shouldn't, because how easily it could crush you."

She stroked his cheek. "Or maybe you should have more."

"We should figure out what happened with your car." He took a step back to go.

Gripping his hand tighter, she pulled him close again. "It will still be wrecked in a few minutes. Talk to me. We're in the middle of a field—no one is around to hear us."

It hurt to see him look so nervous.

"Promise that you'll tell me to stop if it starts to frighten you."

She nodded and squeezed his hand tighter.

"I can fly fast enough to create a sonic boom."

"That's hardly frightening." A frown of confusion pulled.

He swallowed hard and searched her face. "I can shoot heat lasers from my eyes."

She blinked.

His hand tightened, as if afraid of her reaction. He slowly continued. "It scares Mom. She said my eyes glow red and veins spider out a couple inches on my face."

A headache threatened from frowning so severely. "Does it hurt?"

It took a moment for him to process the question, as if surprised at her lack of reaction. He nodded. "Not as in pain exactly, but my eyes feel hot and it causes intense pressure in my head. It hurts less each time as I figure out how to control the intensity."

With a nod, she set a hand on his arm with her free hand. "What else?"

He gaze dropped to the ground. "I can, um, go through the ozone. I can go into space and hold my breath for nearly thirty minutes."

Her eyebrows shot up. "As in you just fly through it, no protection or anything to keep from burning up?"

A nod was his answer.

Taking advantage of his softened skin, she smacked his arm. "What were you thinking to even try that?! What if you had burned up?!"

The man frowned. "I can walk through fire, so it wasn't a complete risk."

"What?! Are you stupid?! Why did you even try walking through fire?! I can't believe you!"

He tried to pull his hand away to raise it in surrender.

"Oh no, I get to take advantage of you being soft." She swatted his arm again. "That's for your stupidity. Try something like that again, and I'll tell your mother I've found a way to spank you!"

That only won a smile. "I'm not sure you should tell my mother that you spank me."

A flush of embarrassment shot up. "I did not say that!" She dropped his hand.

He pulled her against his chest, a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at her mouth. "I like it when you yell at me. I'm bigger and much stronger, but you aren't afraid to take me to task." His voice grew husky and deeper.

Her heart fluttered. "Someone needs too," she huffed, only it didn't carry much bite with how breathless she was. Every sense focused on him. Desire pulled her body toward him, like a magnet. A need pulled with intensity so strong it was almost like a spell. Reason flew out the window, ready to succumb to this strange instinct.

His eyes dilated almost instantaneously, and his body pressed in a way that only made her cling tighter. Just his scent caused a wave of pleasure.

In the next instant, she fell forward into thin air. He stood more than a hundred feet away. His chest heaved as he ran his hands through his hair and began pacing.

Just like that, the spell was broken.

He returned a couple minutes later, but kept a distance. "Lois, I'm sorry. I'm going to check what happened with the car. Then I'll be back." His voice quivered, as if he'd frightened himself. There was nothing but thin air in the next second.

A long, steadying breath swept out. He was far too handsome and innocent for his own good.

Distress filled his eyes when he returned minutes later. "Was your car in the apartment parking lot?"

"No, the apartment garage. Why?"

His hands rested on his hips. "Your car is trashed, but from what I can x-ray, it looks like some kind of motor was added under the hood that forced acceleration. The brake line was cut."

A chill ran through.

"Do you have any idea who might've done this?"

She shook her head and held his distressed gaze. "Whomever is behind the sewage plant is my only guess."

He ran a hand over his face. "That's exactly whom I suspect too. Apparently being shut down by the government wasn't enough for them–I think they want your head as revenge." A long sigh released. "Call your mom from my cell so she knows you're alright, but tell her that she has to play along with it that you're dead. Then I'm taking you to my parents' house until I figure out who is behind this."

"What? No! I'm not going into hiding like some frightened chicken. Plus, there's no body–"

"If I dig up a Jane Doe in a cemetery and set the car on fire again, there will be a body...well, forensics are good enough these days to know she died long before the crash." He ran a hand over his face.

"Ha! See? I'm not going into hiding." She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"You're taking me back to work so we can figure out who is behind this."

The man eased her arms free. "Uh, no. You're getting out of town."

"Uh, no, I'm going to the office to make calls. You can either take me there and hover like a worried old woman, or I can call a cab and go myself."

"And you're not going to file an insurance claim on the car? You can't just leave the scene. How are you going to explain getting away unscathed?" His eyebrows rose to prove his point. "See? You need to fake your death. By the time we figure out who did this, you can claim you healed from minor injuries and a concussion."

A smile pulled. "Or," she set a finger to the tiny hint of a cleft in his chin, "I tell them a mysterious rescuer came and saved me. If you insist on running around saving lives from certain death, you're going to have to come up with some kind of disguise." A wiggle of her eyebrows didn't seem to convince him.

He snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like a sure way to end up in a lab. Why don't I just hand myself over to Area 51 right now?"

"Well, only let them know about some of your capabilities, like your strength."

Those blue eyes bugged. "Do you hear yourself? They'd find out about my strength and speed–that's enough for experimental tests! How soon before they realize they can't stick needles in me? I think you hit your head–you've lost your mind!"

"I'm not saying to go throwing yourself in the spotlight–"

"No."

She set her hands on his chest. "Clark, I wouldn't propose something that would be dangerous. Hear me out."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm done with this conversation." A note of steel filled his voice as he pulled off her hands.

It'd be better to bring this up again after he had time to mull it over. "Fine. Are you going to tell me what tests you let Dr. Klein do on you?"

A fierce scowl screwed up his face. "Are we in the Twilight Zone? Someone tried to kill you, your car is blown up, and we're in the middle of the country without a plan, but you want to have this discussion?"

She shrugged. "No one's going to find me out here, so it's as good a time as any. Plus, I need time to think of a plan." Searching his eyes, she set a hand on his arm. "Will you tell me at least if he hurt you?"

In that split instant of the question leaving her lips, he clammed up. "Of course medical tests aren't fun. He didn't do anything I didn't consent to," he snapped, his eyes cold.

Nausea swam up. What had he subjected himself to? "Clark, I ask because I don't want you to get hurt pushing for answers on where you're from." Keeping the tone gentle and calm might get him to open up.

"On what I am, you mean," he snarled and began to walk away.

She took a step to follow.

"I don't know—" He spun around with a finger held up.

His hard hand rammed against her shoulder. Slamming into the ground with such force gave no time for reaction.

In the next instant, he knelt before her and eased his hand out from under her head. He must've slowed the fall enough to not bang her head on the hard, crusted field dirt.

"Lois, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were right behind me," he fretted and helped her sit up. "Where are you hurt?" His eyes dilated and his touch grew harder.

It took a moment for the daze to fade and shoulder pain from the hit to set in. An ache in the opposite hip began to throb from hitting the dry dirt. "I'm fine." She tried to get up.

"No, you're not. I can smell your stress hormones increasing from pain." He withdrew his hands and only touched the shirt sleeve material to expose her arm where a large bruise formed already. A gentle breeze of cold air blew over it, easing away the pain.

"Thanks." She pulled down the sleeve and pushed herself up. Clenching teeth against the hip pain, she turned to him. This was another set back that would make him pull away even more.

"Where else are you hurt?" He stood and searched her eyes. "And don't lie—I hear your elevated heart rate and smell your cortisol rising more."

"I dropped with more than my own weight behind it. I'm just sore." She reached a hand out to him.

He stepped back. "I keep hurting you," he barked, "It's not safe for you to me near me."

"You accidentally grabbed my arm hard one time when we didn't even know you could get stronger, and you bumped me down. I'm much sturdier than that."

His eyes narrowed. "And if my hand had hit your head instead of your arm, you could be in a coma!"

Setting a hand on her hip, she cocked an eyebrow. "You should've gone into theater. You've saved me far more times than caused accidents. You know now that you get stronger when you're reacting, so you know to be careful—"

So much emotion flooded his eyes. "And what if I seriously hurt you? How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to ask you to keep taking that risk? At least being secluded means I won't hurt anyone."

A gust of wind, and he was gone.

She looked down at what filled her hands. His cell phone and money. It must be to call a cab. Anger surged. Throwing them on the ground, she shouted, "I know you can hear me! That's the coward's way out!"

He didn't return.

"Fine! I'll go find out who is doing this by myself! Murderers are a lot more dangerous than a bump on the arm!" She flipped open the cell and started dialing Perry's number to get approval for overtime this weekend.

The phone ripped out of her hands. Clark stood there, his eyes fierce and nostrils flared as his chest heaved in a temper. "You are _not_ going after them. _I_ will figure this out while you're out of the state with my parents."

She frowned. "No." Reaching around him for the phone was a mistake.

His arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her from reaching the phone. Her body pressed against his.

Those blue eyes shifted from angry to intimate to slightly dilated. His body softened.

Her knees grew weak looking up into his eyes. That pull to him, that instant desire, came to life. The need for him was almost overwhelming.

"Is this what attraction feels like to humans?" he breathed.

She kept her hands on his chest, not trusting to not succumb to the spell if holding him close. His hot breath made her tongue run over her lower lip, wanting nothing more than to taste his cinnamon-flavored mouth. "No," she whispered, "I've never felt this." She rose onto her toes, coming closer to his lips. "I don't understand it. I want you." That confession should've been embarrassing, but it felt safe to be so honest with him.

A throaty groan vibrated his chest. "Lois, I want you too. I've never wanted a woman." His lips brushed over hers in the softest kiss. "I don't think it's real. I smell some kind of pheromone coming from me. I think it's brainwashing you." His tongue slipped into her mouth in a tender kiss.

She clung, with fistfuls of his shirt. There was so much desire and pleasure and safety and...love in his arms.

He lifted his head, grief reflecting in his eyes. "Your body is having a chemical reaction. It's not real." Then he slowly released her from his arms and backed away.

The intense craving faded instantly, but the feelings for him didn't. "You're so certain." Her arms wrapped around her middle. This wasn't going to end well—it was palpable that he was shutting down. "You so readily make choices for me."

He smirked. "No woman would ever choose this."

It was time to take a leap of faith. "I would. The intensity of those emotions is gone, but they're still there. They've always been there."

The man stared, as if dumbfounded.

Say something, anything. But he didn't.

"Lois, I think you're confusing being rescued and the pheromone influence with something else."

That stung. Swallowing hard, looking back in the direction of the car would help with the embarrassment. "Someday someone special is going to say it to you, and you'll believe her." How strange it was to want someone else's happiness more, even at the expense of your own pain. "I hope she makes you really happy." Having a better grip on the tears that had threatened, she turned back to him, his face unreadable. "Um, I'm gonna go take care of the car. I'll see you Monday." She turned and started walking.

"Lois, I'm not going to leave you out here without even a phone." An odd note of distress softened his voice, as if he was coming up with any excuse.

She turned, not quite able to meet his eyes. "Clark, you get to leave whenever you're humiliated. Let me have that too." Daring a glance, shock seemed to render him speechless. Using the opportunity to get some distance, she started the laborious journey to the road over the dry, rocky field.

This break for the weekend would be good. It'd give some perspective and time to let emotions cool before having to face him again on Monday.

The next step was on an uneven row of dirt. Just as the ankle gave away, an arm wrapped around and steadied the world.

His hard chest pressed against her back. A soft puff of air brushed her ear as his face buried in her hair. "I did find her," he whispered, "but I'm so afraid of frightening or harming her."

Her heart stilled. Turning, she searched his eyes.

Everything laid vulnerable and uncloaked in those beautiful eyes. Even frightened of himself and of rejection, he offered up everything that could be shattered for forever.

Stroking his cheek as his body began to succumb to her touch, she held his gaze. "You're a good man. You may frighten some, but only because they don't know you to understand there is no evil. You couldn't truly harm anyone without trying."

He caressed a lock of hair away that the wind blew over her cheek. "I don't even know what I am," he breathed, his eyes searching her heart.

"A man who is meant to be something great. You fear what you are physically, but whatever that may become is ruled by what is here." Her other hand rested over his heart. "If this is good, that's all that can come from you."

A sigh came from the depths of his soul. His hand cupped over hers on his cheek, and his dark lashes swept down to close his eyes. "I wish things were different. I wish I was normal and wasn't awkward and—"

"No one thinks you're awkward but you. You just need to believe in yourself more."

* * *

She looked at him across the table during lunch at his parents' house. He'd been on the call with Mom and told about the two attempts on her life, so Mom had insisted that she go out to Kansas to hide until Clark and the police could figure out who was behind it.

Their conversation had been cut short when sirens had arrived nearby, probably at the scene of the accident. Clark convinced the police and paramedics that they'd been in the car together and pulled over on the side of the road to get out and take pictures when it had taken off by itself. The police had bought it.

And Clark hadn't said anything since this morning about their earlier conversation. He'd seemed happy and open about everything—even flying her to his parents' house—everything but that talk.

"Honey, I promise he won't disappear if you stop staring at him," Martha's voice said near her ear.

Turning her head, a flush crept up to see Martha leaning over with a smile. "Oh, I was lost in thought. I'm sorry, I'm not being a good conversationalist, am I?"

Jonathan exchanged a smile with Martha.

Another stolen glance revealed a warm smile from Clark. It made butterflies come alive inside.

He crossed his arms and leaned them down on the table. "You haven't eaten much." A twinkle filled his eye, and he glanced at her plate.

The sandwich and apple sat mostly uneaten.

"Oh." The flush grew hotter, and she ate the sandwich as Jonathan graciously took up conversation.

"You're not helping," she sighed under her breath, too softly for anyone else to hear.

His smile only grew as he watched her. Then he sat back with his hands behind his head. "As soon as Slow Pants finishes, I'm going to show her around the barn. I think she'll like meeting Annabelle."

Martha's eyes widened. "You be a good host, Clark."

Jonathan chuckled behind his hand.

She frowned. "Who's Annabelle?"

"A big mistake," Martha said, her glare on Clark. "I mean it. If you misbehave, you're doing the dishes tonight."

When she finished, he grabbed an apple and her hand and tugged her outside.

On the porch, he tossed her the apple. "Come, I'll show you around, city girl."

She followed but gave him a suspicious look. "How come I get the feeling you're a naughty child when in Kansas? Who is Annabelle?"

"I'm not going to do anything to scare you." He stopped at a large barn door and slid it open.

A couple cows and miniature goats inside started making noise and bucking.

"Animals go crazy if I come near them. Go on over to the brown goat and offer the apple."

Her eyebrows shot up. "He's kicking. I'm not going near him."

He cracked a smile. "She. Go. She won't hurt you. Just don't go up right behind her."

Giving him a long look, she went inside. The minute Clark disappeared from sight, they settled down. "Annabelle, look at what I have." She held out the apple and crouched down a few feet away.

The brown goat turned away and continued eating her hay.

Then a tiny noise filled the barn from the other side of the goat. "Baaaah." A little black goat, no bigger than a small dog, peeked out.

A laugh burst out. "Are you Annabelle? Why, you're just a baby. Come here."

Wiggling the apple made the tiny beast trot over. Tiny hooves rested on her thigh as the goat reached up for the treat. "Baaaah!"

"Okay, okay." With a giggle, she handed over the apple and twished to look back over her shoulder.

Clark peeked around the door, a smile on his face.

But the animals must've seen because they made noise and kicked. Annabelle ran away behind her mother.

He vanished again.

She stood and dusted off her jeans. The animals all quieted again. Huh.

Clark shut the door when she came out. "Why did your mother think you were going to cause trouble?"

A sheepish smile touched his lips. "Because Annabelle usually chases people. I knew she'd like you, though." Then he pointed toward a tall tractor across the dirt drive and started walking at a leisurely pace.

"Why do the animals make a fuss when you come?" She fell into step with him.

He shrugged. "They can tell an alien, I guess. Mom says animals have never liked me. Well, except for the stray dog who found me wandering the corn fields when I was a toddler. Mom made Dad keep him. I was nine when he died. No other animal has ever wanted to be around me." The facade of indifference didn't run deep enough.

How terribly sad to lose a dog as a child and never have another little best friend ever again. "Could he have come on that vessel with you?"

"No," he sighed, "it was only large enough to fit me." Sadness crept into his voice, as if he still missed his dog.

She linked her arm through his. "Maybe a puppy wouldn't react and then grow up used to you. Perhaps your scent is a little different..."

A shake of his head cut off her words. "My parents tried after Jack died. I cried for weeks, and every puppy they brought home would scream this horrible sound and run when I'd come near. They finally stopped trying after the fifth puppy."

It was so sad. Tears stung. "What happened with the fifth one?"

His throat convulsed in a hard swallow, although his eyes remained ahead. "I'd started to get stronger by then and put it together with the animals' reactions to realize there was something different about me. I locked myself in my room and barricaded the door with all the furniture after the fifth puppy. That's when I learned I didn't need to eat."

Her stomach clenched. "You didn't eat? Weren't your parents beside themselves?"

He nodded. "Three days without food and water. Dad finally called the fire department. They used the ladder to get up to the window that I'd barricaded with the bed. I think Dad was in such a panic that he started chopping through it with an axe. He wouldn't let any firemen in because he was afraid they'd start asking how a child had moved solid wood furniture." He reached the tractor and pushed it aside like it weighed as much as a feather. "I expected him to tan my hide for the first time in my life, but he hugged me and cried. It's the only time I've seen him cry, which I think got to me more than any tanning would've." He dusted off a giant trap door that blended into the dirt. "It was easier not having Jack after that because I realized my parents didn't care if I was a freak or not."

"Clark, don't say such things. The people who matter don't think you're a freak." It hurt to hear him speak that way of himself again.

The man dusted off his hands and reached down. "We'll see what you think after seeing a spaceship." He cracked a smile and lifted the huge door.

She leaned forward and looked down into the dark hole.

"Come." He held out his hand, still holding the door up with the other hand. "There are stairs over here and a light switch on the left."

Taking his hand, she felt the way down two steps and then reached to where he pointed.

Lights flipped on, illuminating a stone staircase. She took his arm when he came down, letting the door fall shut.

"You know, this is the part in scary movies when everyone screams at the girl to not go with him and get murdered." A nervous laugh escaped as she hesitated at a wide, black mouth to another room. "If I didn't trust you, I'd be terrified."

He chuckled. "You already are. I hear your heart pounding. There's a light switch right in this room. I won't let anything happen to you." His hand ran over hers on his arm, and he reached around the entryway.

The room lit up.

It looked like a ten-foot silver bullet sitting no more than three feet tall in the middle of the stone-lined room.

With a frown, she let go of his arm and stepped closer. "This? It doesn't seem anything like a spaceship. Well, what I imagine it'd look like. Does it open?"

When he set a hand on the side, the top half rolled open like a rolling desk. It glowed a vibrant blue inside, with a small plush area that had straps like a car seat. He reached in and set his fingers against the end. The seat expanded. "Our best guess is it was pressure sensitive to accommodate growth. Dr. Klein thinks I was put in as an infant and got out a year or two later."

Her eyes widened. "How would you have survived? Wouldn't you have at least run out of air?"

He pointed to a long tube that came out of the side wall. Then he pointed to his a spot on his neck, just above his collarbone. "He thinks it was a type of life support."

A circular scar matched the size of the tube.

"You have a scar? How?" Without even thinking, she touched the mark. "Why would someone put a tube in a baby's neck?"

"The best guess is if I am from another planet, the atmosphere is such that I was vulnerable to injury. Hence, the scar. My parents thought it was some twisted maniac who had put me in this, but then I started getting stronger and had more capabilities show up as a teenager. Dr. Klein collected space matter from this. His theory is it took this vessel almost two years to travel through space to reach Earth."

It dawned that her fingers still rested on his neck. Pulling her hand free, she looked at the vessle. "May I touch it?"

"Don't touch the inside, because there are probably more tubes and such, we just can't get it to turn on to know where. I don't want you to get hurt."

She turned to him and frowned. "More?"

He lifted his t-shirt and pointed to his belly button. It masked a scar the radius of an adult finger.

Drawing a deep breath to keep the bile from rising, she grabbed his arm as the room swayed.

"Lois?" He caught her elbow.

It was sick and twisted. Who knew if he'd even been given any anesthetic or screamed in pain as a little baby being tortured. "Why would anyone do such a thing to a baby?"

"Deep breaths. I'm fine, so there's no need to pass out. Dr. Klein thinks I needed food and water in this vessel, and these were a means by which to provide them."

"Why even put a baby in such a thing?" she hissed, the anger replacing nausea. "It's a damn wonder you didn't suffocate or get muscle atrophy or rip out tubes and hemorrhage!" The words rose to a shout.

"Lois, Lois, calm down." He held her shoulders. "It happened a long time ago, and it all worked out. There's no need to go start a galactic war." The man cracked a smile.

"It's barbaric and disgusting!" She jerked away from him and bumped the vessel.

The tip fell off, revealing a small compartment. A green crystal glowed.

"What is it?" She leaned closer.

"That's never come off. The front is lined in lead." Something in his voice sounded odd.

She glanced over.

He paled and his eyes lost focus.

"Clark?" She stood and held his arm as he started to sway and held his head. "Clark, sit down."

"Lois..." The word came out weak, and a gasp of complete agony tore from his throat. He collapsed in an unconscious heap, his weight too much to hold. His head hit the doorframe, and blood began to drip onto the floor.

"Clark! Clark!" Shaking didn't rouse him. The pulse at his throat grew weaker.

Running up the steps, the trap door was far too heavy to budge even throwing her shoulder into it. "Jonathan! Martha!" Screaming wouldn't be heard this far from the house. She ran down the steps and dropped to her knees beside him.

His breathing fell into a sporadic rhythm, and the pool of blood blossomed bigger.

"Dammit, Clark," she whimpered, "now is not the time to become mortal when we aren't near the sun." The sun. The sun's glow made him stronger. Her eyes flew to the crystal. Maybe that glow made him weaker.

Scrambling for the cover, shoving and twisting wouldn't latch it back in place. Holding it on as tight as possible might be enough to wake him up.

The wheezing stopped within seconds.

"Clark! Clark, you gotta wake up!"

His chest rose and fell in a normal rhythm.

"Clark!"

His eyelids fluttered open, a dazed, weak look in his eyes.

"Clark, you have to get out."

He pushed himself up, struggling to get to his hands and knees. "Don't. It might be radiation," he panted and held out his hand to her.

"I'm tolerating it a lot better than you. Get up the stairs."

Blood kept running down his face from the gash in his temple. He grabbed the edge of a wall brick and tried to pull himself up, but he collapsed onto his knees. "I can't. Lois, go."

"I can't lift the door, and your parents couldn't hear me. You have to so we both can get out." He was losing too much blood too fast. Her teeth chomped down on her lip. A sharp pang and the metallic taste of blood. Wiping a finger over the cut, she held out a bloody finger near him.

A sharp inhalation and his eyes narrowed. His muscles didn't bulge and color didn't improve, but he climbed to his feet and stumbled up the steps. He shoved and heaved his back against the door, but it hardly budged. Then he got it open a crack and fit his hand out into the sun.

It must've been enough because he shoved the door just enough, but his body visibly shook under the weight. "Lois," he gasped, fighting to keep it open.

"Get in the sun and come back for me. If I let go of this, you won't be able to hold the door."

He hesitated.

"This is not the time for some kind of moral struggle! If it is radioactive, we'll get out faster if you can open the door."

He climbed out, and the door slammed down.

Dropping the cover, she ran up the stairs and waited.

The crystal started humming.

Oh god, that couldn't be good. "Clark!" She pushed on the door.

It lifted and she was suddenly standing on the porch with him.

"Are you hurt?" He didn't even wait for a response before he turned her around.

"I don't need x-rays!"

"No, I'm looking for traces of radioactivity. Come, we're going to Dr. Klein to make sure you're alright."

The world lurched and her feet touched the ground. Nausea hit with just enough time to lean over and get sick.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." A hand rested on her back, and her hair lifted. A cold breeze brushed the back of her neck.

Straightening only made her knees buckle as the world dipped.

He eased her down, the cool grass a wonderful balm against the nausea.

"I'm sorry. I was in such a panic to get here, I didn't think about it that you can't go that fast." His fingers laid against the pulse at her neck.

"Where's here?"

"Dr. Klein's." Worry knit his brow as he stroked her hair.

"You're the one who went unconscious, bled, and lost your strength, but I'm the one who needs a doctor?"

"I'm back to normal. You can't heal like I can."

* * *

"I see nothing wrong with her. You, on the other hand," Dr. Klein said and took out a syringe, "aren't back to normal." He easily drew blood from Clark and went to the microscope.

She stepped up to the exam table and brushed aside Clark's hair at his temple. "The cut looks days old, but it doesn't look any different than an hour ago."

"Are you fretting?" He smiled and pulled her around to stand between his knees.

"No, country boy, I thoroughly enjoyed watching you almost die." She rolled her eyes and pulled away.

Except he caught her hand and pulled her closer to whisper, "I like you sassy, city girl."

A blush crept up despite the haughty glare. "What is it with men and convalescing turning them into flirts?"

"Makes us feel more manly when we're weak," Dr. Klein said absently and came back over. "Go in the sun again for ten minutes." Then he turned to her. "Can you bring me some of that crystal?"

"I don't think so." He hopped off the table, causing the floor to tremble but not crack. "We have no idea if it'll hurt her."

Dr. Klein looked from the floor to her. "Ms. Lane, I need a blood sample from you too." He gave a pointed look.

The doctor thought Clark's reaction to her blood would speed up his recovery. She nodded.

"Why do you need to stick her? You said she's fine." Goodness, Clark sounded ornery.

"Just to be sure." The doctor came over and showed a note.

 _It's filled with blood thinner so it'll look like I'm taking much more blood. Don't want him leaving when his skin is still vulnerable, on the chance he'd deteriorate with delayed exposure._

With a slight nod, she gave over her arm.

Clark hovered, not seeming to notice Dr. Klein pressing the vein to slow the bleeding. Goodness, the blood thinner in the tube connecting to the vials certainly made it look like a lot. By the fifth tube, Clark stopped pacing and looked over her shoulder, his tension growing palpable.

"You're going to bleed her dry. That's enough," he growled.

"She's fine." He glanced at her when Clark started pacing again. _Two tubes_ , he mouthed.

Huh. It certainly looked like more than that.

This didn't seem to be causing Clark any kind of reaction besides agitation. She popped the top off two tubes.

Clark's nose twitched and he halted mid-step.

Dr. Klein smiled and popped the tops off the other four tubes.

His head turned toward her, his eyes dilated. "You have enough." He stalked closer. He looked slightly dangerous. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, for Dr. Klein's sake.

"Almost done." Dr. Klein reached for another vial.

She suddenly stood behind Clark, with the needle gone from her arm, and several feet away from the exam table. Clark's back muscles coiled through his shirt.

"You do not harm her to get a damn reaction out of me," he hissed and turned around. His touch was hard as rock and his eyes still completely black, but his fingers brushed her jaw with the lightest caress. "Did he take too much?"

She shook her head. "I feel fine."

Then his gaze dropped to the crook of her arm where a drop of blood crept down. A small gust of wind tore through the room. A gauze appeared in his hand, and he set it over the wound and held it on with one finger. His eyes lifted to hers, the beautiful blue in his eyes more visible than a minute ago. "Too hard?" A huskiness deepened his voice.

The fact that he was incredibly strong right now but being so very, very gentle melted her heart. "No. Thank you." She took over holding the gauze.

His eyebrow cocked. "You aren't to go along with a stunt like that again."

A guilty flush crept up. "There's no harm in helping push you along to returning to normal." Laying a hand on his arm, she frowned. He felt like a normal human again. "It was just a temporary fix," she breathed in disbelief. "Do you feel alright?"

"Aside from a little weak, I feel fine."

Dr. Klein surveyed him up and down. "Pick up my solid wood desk."

Clark walked across the room and picked it up, but he struggled. When he set it down, he stumbled and sank into the chair while holding his head.

She hurried over and knelt before him. "Does your head hurt?"

"No, I think I got dizzy. The room started to spin." His eyes opened and slowly came into focus on her.

Oh goodness, he didn't even know what it felt like to be ill. "Yeah, that's dizzy." She felt his forehead. "He feels a bit cold." Looking over her shoulder to Dr. Klein, he approached with a blood pressure cuff.

"He normally runs forty over twenty." Dr. Klein slid the cuff over Clark's bicep.

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's practically dead."

"For you or I. With two hearts, he can sustain a low blood pressure." The doctor frowned as he pumped the cuff and took a reading. "No wonder why you're dizzy. You're running twenty-one over eleven."

She looked up at the doctor. "Does that mean he's having cardiac trouble?"

"Well, I'm going to assume he responds the same way we would. I'm reluctant to try drugs because physiologically he may not respond how we would—"

"Lois," Clark said weakly and swallowed several times, his breathing growing heavy, "it feels like something is here." He patted the base of his throat.

"I think you're nauseous. Here, lie on the floor. Sitting up can make it worse."

But Dr. Klein shoved a basin at Clark just in time.

His stomach seemed to calm, but his color kept fading. A drugged look dulled his eyes, and he began to slump.

"Clark?" Grabbing his arm so he wouldn't fall off the chair, her eyes darted to the doctor.

"Clark? Can you hear me?" He grabbed a stethoscope and listened to Clark's chest as Clark's eyes began to roll back. "His second heart stopped."

"What?!" It took every fiber of strength to help Dr. Klein lower Clark onto the floor.

"As long as his other heart keeps going, we can get it started up again. Cut his shirt open." He ran across the room and grabbed a machine.

Snatching scissors from the pen holder on the desk, she cut his t-shirt at the neck and then ripped it open. "Do I do CPR?"

"No, you'll send his other heart into arrhythmia." Dr. Klein dropped to his knees and set an AED machine down. "You feel his pulse and count out loud. We have to shock his other heart at just the right moment."

She set her fingers to his neck. Panic set in not feeling a pulse. "I can't." This wasn't real. He was fine and talking a minute ago. It just seemed like he stopped breathing, he wasn't dead. He had to be alright...he had to be.

Dr. Klein dropped the paddle and felt it himself. "Both hearts stopped. What the hell is going on?" He charged up the AED. "Clear!"

The shock visibly traveled over his chest and sparked at his chest, neck and face—the exact spots she'd touched.

"Starting CPR!" Dr. Klein rose onto his knees.

"A magnet! Get a magnet! Some of the crystal somehow got on me, and it's congregating where I touched him. A magnet might pull it off."

He scrambled up and ran to a contraption on a cart that he pushed over. "It creates a magnetic field for gases." The man hit a button.

Strange particles trembled over Clark's chest and clustered into tiny specs before flying to the magnet. Pieces gathered on her palms and then shot off in tiny balls to the magnet, causing raw stinging and leaving behind tiny blood blisters.

Clark suddenly sucked in air.


	12. Chapter 12

The ride back to his parents' house remained very quiet.

A hand slipped into hers across the console. Her hands still shook, and holding onto his quiet, steady strength helped make the bad dream fade.

He didn't seem to need words uttered or see the tears that had been cried when he'd been unconscious to know how terrible those minutes had been.

As soon as she put the truck in park in the drive, he opened her door from the outside.

She blinked. "You shouldn't be moving fast like that." The words came out with a thick, rough edge yet from the tears.

"I feel mostly back to normal." He held out a hand and gently took hers to exit from the truck, and guided straight into his embrace.

It felt so good to hold him. As his body softened, she buried her face against his chest and let the silent tears come. "You were dead," she breathed, only loud enough for his ears.

His hand stroked her back. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily." Then his face buried in her hair. "It's over. Don't cry," he purred.

"It's not, not until we get rid of that crystal. The whole cellar is contaminated, and you can't go in." She rested a cheek on his chest, the sound of his two heartbeats so comforting.

Just then, his phone rang. He sighed when she let go, and pulled it out of his back pocket. "It's Dr. Klein already." With a frown, he put it in speaker phone. "Hi, Dr. Klein. Lois is here too on speaker."

"Clark, whatever you do, don't get near that crystal. It's having no effect on Lois's blood, but it's tearing yours apart at a molecular level. Lois is right that it's some kind of magnetic effect. I think the crystal, during impact with the ozone, got somewhat damaged and created dust particles. Those particles got on you and caused massive, almost instantaneous cellular destruction that led to cardiac arrest."

Her eyes met his. "But, why didn't the actual crystal kill him in the cellar?"

"Because it wasn't on his skin. I think the actual crystal, if free from its own particle dust, would cause a slow, excruciating death as it tears apart cells at each tissue layer. That's why he progressed through phases—pain, collapse, unconsciousness, and respiratory distress—in the cellar. Here, he went almost straight to cardiac arrest because it was in contact with his body."

"Why would something that lethal be put in the vessel?" She met Clark's eyes, reading his hurt and confusion over why whomever had put him in the ship had tried to kill him too.

"You had life support in the ship. I think that wherever you're from, you were just as vulnerable as any human. I don't think the crystal was lethal to you there, just like it doesn't hurt Lois or I."

"How do we destroy it?" A sick feeling took hold, already knowing Dr. Klein's answer.

"I don't know yet. We go in with a magnet to clean up the cellar, but let me run some more tests. Let me see if a Geiger counter or metal detector can sense it so we know if the cellar is properly cleaned."

After getting off the phone with Dr. Klein, Clark took her hand and headed for the house.

Holding hands still hurt from the crystal, but it was too good to feel him alive to pull away.

Clark slammed to a halt and sniffed. Then he turned, his eyes slightly dilated. "Why are you in pain?"

She eased her hand free. "My palms are just a bit sore from the crystal fragments that pulled off with the magnet—"

He turned her hand over, and his eyebrows snapped together at seeing the tiny red dots. "You have blood blisters." He blew cold air over both palms cradled in his. "Lois, you should've said. I was feeling well enough to drive."

"Clark! Clark!" Martha burst out of the house and came running, with Jonathan following at a more sedate pace. She threw herself at him and patted him down. "We couldn't find you, so I called Dr. Klein—"

"Mom—"

"–and he said you'd just left. What happened? He said—

"Mom—"

Martha was in such a panic that she didn't hear him. "—something about a green crystal stopped your hearts. Where are you hurt, baby?"

She set a hand on Martha's shoulder. "He's alright now."

The woman yanked him down in a fierce hug, not seeming to care that his density caused a grunt as the air knocked the air out of herself.

"Mom, be careful." He gently hugged, letting Martha keep him hunched over and locked in a tight hug. "I'm fine now."

"You're not fine! You died!" Poor Martha burst into tears, still not letting go. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Martha leaned back and hit his shoulder, her expression fierce.

"Mom! You'll break your hand!"

"Don't you ever keep something like that from me! Do you understand me Clark Jonathan Kent? I'll tan your hide next time!" Then she yanked him down in another hug.

If poor Martha hadn't been so distressed, it would've been comical to see him let such a tiny woman scold and jerk him around.

She glanced at Jonathan, who stood back in silence and brushed at his eyes.

Clark seemed to notice at the same moment and held his arm out to his father.

Jonathan walked over and hugged Clark tight from the side being Martha didn't seem inclined to let Clark go anytime soon.

Martha lifted her head and looked at her, tears still streaming down her face. "Were you with him?"

With a nod, the tears welled at the terrible memory.

His mom held out an arm and made a little space between her and Jonathan.

She stepped in and was engulfed in the family hug. Clark's head was right near her shoulder, still trapped in Martha's hug. Not caring who saw, she brushed a kiss over his cheek.

* * *

"You're still weak," Martha fretted in the living room after hearing the whole story. She sat on his other side on the sofa with an arm linked through his, still disinclined to let him go.

"I'm almost back to normal. I'm feeling better, Mom." He sat with a plate of food on his lap.

"Eat your food," she ordered.

"Martha, food doesn't do anything for him," Jonathan reminded her from his chair. He'd remained silent until now.

She threw him a dangerous glare that only a mother could threaten when protecting her young. "It won't hurt. He needs any energy he can get."

"Actually, I'm going to go for a walk. I think it'll help being it's a sunny day." He set the plate on the coffee table and stood. Then he held out a hand to her.

Jonathan didn't react, but Martha looked surprised and hurt at being left behind.

Taking his hand, she stood. "Do you both want to come?"

Clark tensed. Maybe he needed time away from the hovering.

"I think we'll give Dr. Klein a call and see if he has ideas on how to clean up the cellar," Jonathan answered before Martha could. He gave Martha a pointed glance to keep quiet.

Martha bit her tongue.

Clark leaned down and kissed his mom's cheek. "I'm okay, Mom. It'll be good to get outside."

Then he took her hand and led the way out.

Outside, he walked around to the side of the house and leaned his back against it, closing his eyes.

"You're weaker than you let them know." She frowned and set a hand on his chest. His hearts beat a bit fast.

"I started feeling sick. I think I just need some sunlight. Mom's fretting wasn't helping."

Relaxing against the house, she rested her head on the side of his shoulder. "They're just worried. They love you very much. She wouldn't be a good mom if she didn't hover after something like that."

"I know, I just needed a break from all the stress in the room."

She let go of his hand and stepped to the side. "I probably shouldn't touch you right now so you don't lose energy reacting."

The man didn't open his eyes, and his breathing remained slightly fast. "I feel so weak. I felt better when we got home." His color was paler than a half hour ago.

"Maybe because you were in the sun for the car ride. Maybe your energy levels deplete faster in the shade until you get back to normal." Stepping before him, she tugged up his shirt.

He gave no protest as she pulled it off. "I feel like I'm going to pass out. What are you doing?" It came out breathless and weak.

"If you get energy from the sun's radiation, having as much skin exposed as possible will help." Then she knelt and pulled off his shoes and socks. She stood and touched his shoulder. "Turn so the sun hits your back. If we kiss, it might soften you enough so radiation can penetrate deeper."

"I'd need to lean on you—I'm dizzy."

"That's alright. Lean your hands on the house until you're soft enough to not crush me. I'll be able to catch you if you faint." She slipped between him and the house, helping him turn.

His forehead rested against hers, with his eyes still closed, and he leaned his hands on the house. The length of his body barely touched, not quite as soft as a human body yet but not as hard as he should be. "Lois." His breaths came shallow, as if on the verge of fainting.

Her hands buried in his hair to leave his back as exposed to sunlight as possible. "Deep breaths. Lean against me, if you need." She eased his head onto her shoulder and kissed his under his ear where it should be the most sensitive to a caress.

A sharp intake of breath, as if it surprised him.

His body began to soften, and she grabbed the belt loops of his jeans and pulled his hips closer while kissing his shoulder. "Lean so if you faint, you'll aim toward me."

Rapid, shallow pants of illness melted into deep, strong breaths of desire as his body molded against hers. His weight shifted more onto his own feet. A hand rested on the curve of her hip and gave a soft squeeze. "Lois," he whispered, his voice stronger as he lifted his head to meet her lips.

Every inch of him seemed to grow stronger. His tongue slipped past her lips as he cradled her cheek in his large hand.

The world melted away, and her arms wrapped around him.

He broke the kiss far too soon. "Lois."

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his black gaze.

His arms slowly uncoiled from around her back.

Then it dawned that her leg had wrapped around his at some point, and she pressed against him. Hopping down in embarrassment, she stepped back and ran her hands through her hair to straighten it. "Sorry, I didn't realize... Do you feel better?" It was hard to look him in the eye without burning cheeks.

With a nod, he stepped closer and took her hand. Those blue eyes slowly returned to normal. "Much. I think your idea worked. Thank you." His voice held a huskiness. He raised her hand to his lips, not breaking eye contact.

It caused a flip-flop.

"I'm going to get closer to the sun. I'll be right back," he said and slowly released her hand. Then he backed up several feet, with a gentle smile on his lips. Neither shame nor self-consciousness touched his eyes, but a very tender look.

He shot up into the sky and disappeared, followed by a loud boom a second later. The sound barrier must've broken.

Leaning back against the house with weak knees, she fanned her face. But her heart wouldn't come down from up in the clouds.

The ground shook minutes later, trailed by a gust of air. He stood inches away, his muscles slightly more defined. "Ready for that walk?"

She nodded, not yet trusting her voice.

The man leaned down and picked up his shirt. He put it on, sadly covering those glorious muscles. Then he offered his arm.

"Ow!" Her body instinctively stumbled back the moment of contact. "You're hot."

"I am?" He frowned and looked down at himself. "I must've gotten too close to the sun. Are you burned?" He suddenly held a pail of water, and his eyes dialted, as if sensing her pain. "Put your hand in."

The cold water soothed away the sting. "Thanks." When she lifted her hand out to check it, he gave a soft breath of cold air. The redness was gone, leaving behind a faint pinkness but no pain.

Then he poured a bit of the water over his own hand. It sizzled. "I'm sorry, I had no idea I got hot. Are you sure you're alright?"

She nodded.

"Spray me with the hose." He pointed to where it laid in the grass at the corner of the house.

Her eyebrows rose.

"Seriously. I'll spin dry." He nodded in encouragement.

Picking it up, she turned the nozzle on low and held it out.

He stuck his arm under, and steam billowed. An entire cloud of steam wafted up when he leaned under it. Then he straightened, as dry as bone from the water evaporating so quickly. "Come on, city girl. You can do better than that." A smile brightened his face.

Sticking her thumb over the end, water sprayed everywhere. Then she released her thumb and giggled.

The man had cool enough that water drops remained on him. He ran a hand over his wet face and cocked an eyebrow. A mischievous glint filled his eye.

"You said to spray you." The laughter bubbled up again.

He reached for the hose.

She sprayed again and ran with the hose. Spinning around to see him still in the same spot, she covered her mouth to stifle the laugh.

"Oh, this is war, city girl."

He suddenly stood toe-to-toe.

A shriek of surprise and laughter burst out.

His hand wrapped around hers on the hose, and his thumb covered the end. The hose flicked toward her belly, soaking her red shirt.

Cold water and surprise of it caused a yelp, and she jumped away.

The hose dropped to the ground.

Laughter overflowed, and she held the cold shirt out away from her stomach. "Don't you dare."

His smile grew, and he slowly reached toward the hose.

"No!" A peel of laughter, and she dove for the hose.

He snatched it and backed up, a naughty grin overcoming him.

"You're cheating! You can't spray me." She held up a finger but couldn't keep the giggles out of her voice.

The man took a step closer. "Oh, city girl, I'm the one with the hose. I'll stop cheating."

"Liar!" With a shriek of laughter, she took off in the opposite direction.

Cold water rained down. Glancing behind, she slowed and wiped wet hair out of the way. He had run out of hose and stood there with a grin. "Ooooh, who's in trouble now, country boy?"

A rich laugh flowed through the air. "I think you still are." He tossed aside the hose and held up his hands. "I promise not to go fast. Come get it before I do."

She laughed. "Yeah, right!"

"Promise." He crossed his heart. "I'll give you a ten-second start."

Inching forward, she paused to see if he was going to cheat.

"Hurry! One...two...three..."

She darted forward.

"Four, five, six,seven, eight, nine, ten!" He rushed through the numbers and ran toward her.

"No! Cheater! Cheater!" She grabbed the hose and screamed in surprise as arms wrapped around her waist from behind. The hose angled over her shoulder to get him to let go, unable to speak through the squeals.

He laughed, and his hand wrapped around hers to angle the water into the air.

"Let me go!" She curled over his arm in a hysterical fit of laughter.

The man bounced her up and down so her feet touched the ground. "Then stand up!" He shook with laughter.

"Stop bouncing me," she wheezed, clutching his arm as her legs curled up from abs being overworked with laughs.

He eased her onto her knees and ran away. Then he half hopped, half shuffling from side to side.

Struggling to get to her feet, she held her stomach. "You look like an idiot."

"Come get me. Moving targets are hard for girls."

Her mouth fell open in a loud gasp.

His eyes widened and he gasped too, his eyes sparkling in an obvious tease.

"Oh, this is war!" She charged with the hose.

He ran around the yard, never going beyond the hose length. His laughter filled the air, as if enjoying the chase and not minding that he was soaked.

The hose suddenly wrapped around her ankle when he changed direction. She gasped and looked up at him. "You got me tangled on purpose!"

Not an ounce of remorse tinted his laugh as he ran toward her.

Trying to untangle to at least be able to spray him, a shriek of giggles pierced the air as he caught around her middle and swung in a circle.

Laughter filled the air as she tried to spray him, but he set her down and darted away again.

He was nowhere in sight. The laughter faded. "Clark?"

A tap on the right shoulder.

She spun around. Nothing.

A tap on the left.

Spinning around again, nothing was there, except a distinct feeling of someone standing behind.

Bowing her head, his bare feet stood behind. He was moving right with her to stay out of sight. Flicking the hose behind and soaking her side in the process, a yelp of surprise confirmed the guilty party.

She spun around with a giggle and gasped when the hose shot him in the face. It dropped as her hands flew to her mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean to!"

He ran a hand over his face and shook the water off his hand. The man grinned and then swiped the hose in the blink of an eye. He pelted with a full stream of water at her belly.

A scream of surprise and she spun to run. Only, an arm caught hers and spun her around to land against his chest. The hose aimed up at the sky and sent droplets raining down.

Clark didn't move as dozen of little rainbows surrounded.

The laughter faded at his intimate gaze that reached right into her soul.

He leaned down until his lips were a breath away from hers.

Her heart stumbled.

Raindrops landed on his face and trickled down to drip from the tip of his straight nose and strong chin, bringing out the blue in his eyes that began to dilate to black.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered, his voice deep and husky. "Not for medical purposes?"

She grew breathless. This had to be a dream. It was a question as innocent as him, and yet the most romantic moment.

Her fingers reached up and brushed his jaw in a feather-light touch as she rose onto her toes. Her lips brushed his, and he welcomed every moment of it in a perfect kiss.

He breathed as heavily as her when he slowed the kiss. His forehead rested against hers, his eyes still closed. "I need to stop." A kiss pressed to her forehead. "The doctor says I release a pheromone that seduces, and it'd brainwash you into going too far." He eased her head onto his chest.

"Clark–"

"Let's get you dry, and then we can go for that walk." He scooped her up and took off before there was a chance to tell him that any pheromones only built on feelings that were already there.

* * *

"It's so beautiful." She took his hand as he helped her up another steep rock on the side of a waterfall in Colorado.

"I thought you'd like a walk here more than across hayfields. I came here all the time as a teenager."

She frowned. "By yourself?"

"It gave time to think." He shrugged and jumped on top of a five-foot stone.

"Think about what?" She reached up and held on as he lifted her up.

He scooped her into his arms and jumped up another tall boulder. Then he set her down on a dirt path that finished the rest of the climb to the top. "What it would be like to be normal," he said quietly. "To fit in somewhere." He offered his hand and continued walking.

She gave a squeeze and watched as he picked a yellow wildflower. "No one fits in somewhere; they fit in with someones. It's the people, not the place."

A deep sigh escaped him as he stopped and picked a couple more white and pink flowers. "I suppose. Metropolis is the closest place that's ever felt like I belong." Then he pointed at the top of the trail.

Snow-capped mountain tops caressed the the bluest skies. The waterfall overlooked a valley of green fields and a crystal-clear lake surrounded by green trees.

A gasp escaped. "Clark, it's gorgeous. However did you find this?" She turned when he didn't answer.

He held out a small bouquet of flowers. "Lois?" A slightly nervous look crept into his eyes. "Would you like to...if you'd want, I mean, may I take you on a date?"

Her heart took off a hundred miles a minute as a blush formed. A shy smile took hold as she accepted the flowers. "I thought you only want to be friends."

The poor man looked like a deer in headlights.

She set a hand on his arm. "My answer is 'yes,' but I'm not sure I understand the sudden change of heart."

He released a shaky breath and stood a bit taller, as if some self-confidence returned. "I've been forthright with my feelings and reservations about having any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. I don't expect a long-term commitment, and I understand that I come with a lot of baggage. All I ask is for a first date. If it goes well, then a second. One step at a time. If not, we end it right away so we can remain friends and work partners."

Setting a hand on his chest, she smiled up at him. "That sounds like a good plan. Don't go falling in love with me, country boy." She winked. Movement behind him caught her eye.

A male deer crept out of the woods not even ten yards away.

"I already have," he breathed.

Her eyes whipped to him. That couldn't possibly have been heard correctly. "What?"

He pointed to the deer. "I bet that's a dad."

She blinked. "Oh." Huh. Maybe she'd been too distracted to hear him correctly the first time. "How do you know it's a father?"

"Um, well, the antlers. You see how one antler is missing some branches? He's likely battled for a female. Most bucks have mated by the time their antlers are that large." He went on with a science lesson on deer.

Leaning against his shoulder, she bumped her hip against his as he finished the lesson a few minutes later. "You were the class brain, weren't you?" A smile tugged.

The man scratched the back of his neck. "When you like to read but can finish a book in sixty seconds, you go through a lot of books."

"And just how many books have you read?"

He cleared his throat and mumbled, "Smallville and Metropolis Libraries."

Her jaw dropped. "You've read two entire libraries?"

"Well, not the entire libraries. I don't read the Reference Books or Dictionaries."

A laugh burst out. "Oh, okay, slacker."

The blush suited him in this lighting. "Would you like to watch the sunset? I'll grab us some dinner."

"Does this count as our date?" She frowned, not expecting it so fast.

Surprise flashed through his eyes. "Oh, I wasn't planning on it. Do you prefer that?"

Biting her lip in a shy smile, she shook her head.

His face lit up. "You like Chinese, right?"

"Sure. Is there a restaurant near here, though?"

The man wiggled his eyebrows. "I'll be back in five minutes."

He set down woven baskets a few minutes later that contained rice, chicken, and other foods.

She sat beside him on the log. "What restaurant has baskets?" Then her eyes widened when it dawned. "You actually went to China?"

With a shrug, he handed over a basket. "Why not get the real thing?" He placed a box of genuine Swiss chocolates on the log, along with a bottle of French wine.

"Clark, you shouldn't do such extravagant things. I'd be happy with peanut butter sandwiches."

"I know, which is why I wanted to do it. Besides, we've reason to celebrate–you saved me from that green crystal and agreed to a date." He looked around. "Oh. I must've dropped the glasses somewhere."

Her laugh stole the disappointment from his face. "We can drink out of the bottle. Maybe you dropped the glasses over Spain."

He frowned. "No, I think it was probably Hawaii. I took a shortcut coming back."

Staring at him a second, another laugh burst out. "A year ago, never would I have dreamed of having a conversation like this."

The man popped the wine bottle and handed it over with a smile.

"You're a strange one, Clark Kent." She smiled and scooted closer to lean against his shoulder. "I like it. To the unexpected." She held up the bottle.

He held up his basket of food. "To the unexpected, shared with a best friend."

Breath stilled on her lips. That meant so much more than being asked on a date. She smiled. "With a best friend." Then she gave a soft clink with him. And it hit his finger.

The bottle shattered all over their laps.

A smothered laugh snorted out. She covered her mouth but sobered when he stared at the mess in self-consciousness. Her finger grazed over his chin, with an encouraging smile. "Hey, it's okay. I'm a terrible lightweight, so it's better if I don't drink."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Clark, it was an accident. I forgot I'm with the Man of Steel." She gave a soft bump to his shoulder.

His shoulders relaxed, and a tiny smile touched his lips. "Thank you, Lois."

The sun began to paint a rainbow in the sky at the end of dinner. He reclined against the log with his long legs outstretched. She set down her empty basket and relaxed against him. His arm wrapped around behind, so she rested her head on his chest.

"Are you still feeling alright?"

"Perfect," he replied softly and stroked his fingers up and down her arm.

"Aside from my car blowing up and you dying, I had fun today. I don't know that I've ever forgotten about work for that long."

"Ugh, I forgot about your car." He sighed. "Let's not talk shop tonight."

She smiled. There was no desire to work tonight anyways. "It's so beautiful here. I don't think I've ever seen such a vibrant sunset."

He pointed up at the red/pink hue. "Why do you think red sparkles and not other colors?"

"It doesn't." She frowned.

"Sure it does. Just like your shirt."

Sitting upright, she looked at him. "Do all reds sparkle to you?"

Self-consciousness flitted through his eyes. "They don't to you?" When she shook her head, he asked, "Not to anyone?"

"No, not unless they actually contain sparkles."

"Oh." The word came out flat.

"Are there other colors that seem more vibrant or different than others?" She set a hand on his leg.

He hesitated. "Do light greens glow to you?" He pointed to young leaves on a plant. "Like those?"

She shook her head.

His shoulders tensed.

"Maybe there's a reason for it. Maybe mention it to Dr. Klein next time. It doesn't matter." She relaxed against his chest and guided his arm around again.

"Lois? What if there are other things that are different that we don't know yet?"

"We'll take them as they come. They've been that way for thirty years. It doesn't change anything." Her fingers laced with his over her hip.

"Um, if things get serious, I should tell you about some physical differences...from a regular man, I mean."

Tilting her head back to look at him, she frowned. "Clark, it doesn't matter to me."

He swallowed hard and looked away.

"It bothers you, though, doesn't it? It's not the first time you've brought it up." She stroked his arm. "First and foremost, we're friends. If you want to talk about it, we can."

"Would it embarrass you?"

She sat up to be shoulder-to-shoulder and took his hand. "We're two adults and friends, and there's a medical condition that's upsetting you. I should hope we can talk about personal things if we need to."

"I don't want to scare or gross you out, if things did progress romantically. I don't expect to ever be intimate with a woman until marriage, but I'd understand if she didn't want to because of...my altered anatomy. It's not right to mislead a woman–"

"Clark, stop right there. You do not owe it to anyone to discuss this. You can't infect or harm anyone, and you certainly don't owe it to every woman you take on a date if you don't intend to be intimate that night. If you tell me this, you do it because you need a friend to talk to about it, not because you feel you owe it to me because we're going to have a date."

He seemed to chew on that minute. "Alright, then I have a counter-question: will you be honest with me if you're uncomfortable with physical contact after this?"

"Yes, but even if it does make me hesitant, which I doubt, I don't see why it would affect non-sexual contact."

The man drew deep breath and released it. Then he swallowed hard and stared at the ground, as if gathering his thoughts. "Dr. Klein thinks it's some kind of reproductive evolution that almost guarantees pregnancy, assuming the woman is fertile at the time." Another shaky breath, and he looked up at the sky for a moment. "Dr. Klein doesn't think it would be painful." His cheeks turned pink. "There's vibration and some kind of hormone that causes slight dilation in the woman. There's a very slender extension, I guess you could say, for semen to deposit directly in the womb." He looked at her long and hard. "You're freaked out."

"No...I'm just trying to process it. I was ready for something a bit morbid, like from Alien." She rubbed her forehead. A thousand questions and thoughts ran through. "Um...I'm just trying to sort my thoughts into which ones a friend would ask."

He patted her hand. "You can ask anything. I don't want you to try to figure out what ones are okay to ask."

"May I ask if there's genetic compatibility?"

"Yes. Dr. Klein ran tests, and a pregnancy wouldn't harm a woman. And it could be a normal delivery. There wouldn't be a baby ripping out of the belly or anything creepy like that. My parents said I was sickly my first year they had me, with a lot of breathing problems. Pregnancy would allow the baby to adapt to this atmosphere from the beginning. I didn't start showing much for capabilities until preschool. More developed as a teenager, and the rest are finally showing up since meeting you. The baby wouldn't be kicking during pregnancy and breaking ribs or anything creepy like in Twilight."

A small laugh of relief came out. "Well, I can't promise that some women won't be a little worried about, um, consummation hurting, but I don't think you need to be so distressed."

He hesitated a moment. "Would you be worried?"

"Well, I suppose I'd be nervous too, if a woman–"

"I mean, if you were that woman." Then he shook his head. "Forget that I said that. We haven't even gone on a date, and I'm jumping years ahead. It's been a long day. I appreciate you listening to all of this so I can get it off my chest." He stood and held down his hand. "It's getting dark. We should get back."

She set a hand on his chest to wait when he scooped her up after the picnic was cleared. "Clark?"

Those blue eyes met hers for the first time since his question.

"For the record, I'd trust you to stop if it hurt. I wouldn't be scared."

Tension melted from his shoulders under her hand. "Thank you, Lois. For the record, I want you to tell me if you ever become uncomfortable with something, even holding hands. I don't want to ever frighten you."

"You don't." It felt so natural to brush a kiss on his smooth cheek.

A genuine smile lit up his eyes. "Do you want to fly home?"

Muscles tensed. "No." That came out too fast. "I was too shocked to register it this morning with the car crash. I'm really scared of heights."

"Oh. It's okay, we won't," he cooed.

She let go of the fistfuls of his shirt that crushed in her hands.

"Any heights, or just very high?"

"No, any. I panic even in parking garage stairwells. Please, don't." Bones felt like they'd creak under the muscle tension.

"I'm only asking. I promise we won't fly. We can run again." He set her on the ground. "Here, we'll just stand here for a moment." His arms wrapped around. "You're trembling. Why are you so frightened of heights?"

"I don't know, I just always have been."

"Where would you like to go on our date?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "You're trying to distract me."

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not." Then he winked.

It caused butterflies. "Tell me where'd you'd pick."

A tender look softened his eyes. "My first pick was to take you dancing in the stars. On a cool night, the clouds are low enough that you'd be able to breathe yet that high. The sky would be black velvet covered in diamonds above us, without any clouds in the way." The back of his fingers caressed down her cheek as he painted a mesmerizing night. His voice grew deeper and intimate. "I hope you'll one day trust me enough. I'd never let you fall, Lois." he whispered.

Knees grew weak. His chest under her hands felt so strong and safe. "Teach me to not be afraid of it," she breathed.

"Close your eyes. Focus on the sensation. We'll go to the top of a tree. Straight up will let me hold you against me, so it'll feel more secure. I won't drop you. Do you trust me?" His arms wrapped around to mold her against his hard body.

She nodded and locked her arms around his neck. "Can you still fly if you get soft?"

He nodded. "Stand on my feet so it feels more secure."

Kicking off her shoes, she stepped onto the toes of his shoes. Pressing against him, with his feet below and arms around, felt safe.

"Ready?"

Every muscle tensed. "Yes." The moment a slight tremble went through him, her eyes squeezed shut and face buried against his chest. The vibrations faded to a smooth glide. It felt like an elevator going up, but with a soft breeze.

His chest expanded in a deep breath. "Smell the fresh air. Feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. Look to your left, don't look down."

Cracking an eye open, a soft gasp escaped. All thoughts of heights fled. The sunset was parallel, a panoramic view never seen before as if very high up and looking down on the valley.

She let go with one arm to dart it under his and hold his shoulder from behind for a more unobstructed view. That reminded of the height. Keeping a cheek pressed to his chest helped feel more secure. "How high?"

"Tree tops. My feet could kick the leaves. Do you want to try higher?"

"No." Her fingers bit into his softened skin and breathing grew choppy. "Down?" Burying her face against him helped ease the panic.

"We'll go slow." A few seconds later, he said, "Lift your head—I'm going to shake. We're about ten feet."

It felt strange to feel such vibrations. They were more like tremors, and much smoother than this morning. The mistake of opening her eyes caused a wave of panic to slam. She rose onto her toes and clung to him tighter.

"Lois, we're on the ground." His grip loosened to stroke her back.

She arched against him in a panic to hold on. "You're still shaking."

"No, you're trembling. We're on the ground." His fingers combed through her hair. "It's alright. You're safe. Deep breath."

"Am I squishing your toes?" The words quivered.

"No, you can stay. I'm sorry, I didn't realize how frightened you'd be. We'll go lower next time." His arms encircled tighter again.

Slowly moving her hands down his arms, she clung to his biceps and leaned her forehead against his chest. The panic melted away, but there was a strange sense of not being able to hold him like this again. Every minute needed to be soaked up. "Clark?"

"Hm?" He sounded so content and rested a cheek atop her head.

"I have a bad feeling, like something bad is going to happen. Like, you're going to go away."

A hand stroked her hair. "No, I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you either."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I'm so excited to get Ch 14 up! :) This one is short for impact and because I was impatient.**

* * *

"Are you certain you don't want the bed?" He spread a blanket out on the sofa that evening.

"No, I slept on it fine last time."

Martha and Jonathan whispered at the stairs.

Clark glanced over at them. "No, they won't."

She glanced from his parents to him. "Who won't what?"

Jonathan set a hand on Martha's shoulder, as if signaling to keep quiet. "Nothing. We were just talking about something, Lois." He pasted on a forced smile.

It seemed to have given Clark pause, though. Worry flickered in his eyes. "I'll sleep in the chair down here with you."

Her eyes flew to his parents. "You think they'll figure out where I am." Then she looked at Clark. "I shouldn't be here. They might hurt everyone—"

He set a hand on her arm. "They won't figure out where you are, and I'm not going to let them do anything to anyone."

"Except if they blow up the house! Clark, I need to go." She pulled free and turned to grab her suitcase in the corner.

Jonathan could move quickly for a stocky man. He set his hands on her shoulders. "You're staying here where you can be protected. No one will blow up the house. I just think it'd be wise for Clark to sleep downstairs with you, just in case. No arguing. Come now." He turned her around and guided to the sofa.

Martha came over and pulled back the blankets. "Jonathan has a shotgun upstairs and is a good shot. I've heard you have some karate moves that have served you well in tight spots. Everyone will be alright. You get some sleep." Martha tucked her in.

"But—"

"No but, Lois," Clark scolded from behind his parents. He had an extra pillow and blanket and sprawled in the recliner.

Martha brushed a kiss over her forehead and did the same to Clark. Jonathan gave a nod goodnight and then patted Clark's shoulder. "If you hear something, give a loud shout to wake me, son."

He nodded. "I will, Dad." Then he patted Jonathan's hand.

Jonathan turned out the lights on his way upstairs.

"Don't think about it," Clark warned.

She frowned. "What?"

"Leaving in the middle of the night. I'm not going to have our first date be at your funeral. Just because I can protect you doesn't mean I'd find you in time if you go looking for trouble."

"Ew, you're morbid." She turned onto her side to look at his silhouette in the chair.

"I'm making a point. You're damn stubborn. Make a run for it if you want to see me really yell at you. I promise an avalanche is the least that would happen." Irritation filled his voice.

"If you insist on hanging around, then come with me. We should stay at a hotel or something so your parents aren't in danger."

"There's no danger here. Plus, at least I'm around to protect you and them if they do trace you to here. Stop looking worried and go to sleep, Lois. I'll keep an eye out."

"You can see in the dark?"

"That surprises you?" The irritation left his voice, replaced with amusement.

"I suppose not." She made a face and stuck her tongue out.

He chuckled. "Sweet dreams, Lois."

A smile tugged. "Sweet dreams, Clark."

* * *

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this," he whispered and knelt beside her behind an oil barrel at the sewage plant.

"Because you know I'd do it anyways without you," she breathed. "Did you see anything?"

He shook his head. "The far wall is lined with lead. Everywhere else seems empty." Then he glared at her, as if a thought just struck. "You know, I shouldn't have to argue with you about not going on an assignment that Perry denied. We're partners, and I get equal say."

She rolled her eyes and peeked around the barrel for signs of anyone. "You've been looking for my stalkers at night; you're just angry I'm tagging along this time."

"Oh golly, I wonder why," he snorted.

Slowly turning, she cocked an eyebrow. "Golly? No one in the twenty-first century says, 'golly,' Clark. What am I saying? I'm talking to Country Boy."

"I forgot how city girls have no sense of self-preservation," he snorted. "Roll your eyes at me again, and I'll have to kiss you until your eyes roll senseless."

Turning back to him, she gave a look. "We're at work."

"It's not my fault if you push me to extremes, Lois."

The world jerked, and she grabbed onto the nearest thing as her knees buckled when her feet touched the ground. Everything came into focus. An alley near The Daily Planet, and she held Clark's biceps. As he swung her up into his arms, the world stopped spinning.

"Deep breaths. I'm sorry, we had to get out of there. Several men were coming with machine guns."

Pushing against his chest, she landed on her feet but fell against him. "You can't do that!"

"If it means you not being shot, I damn well will do it!" His hands steadied her shoulders as her legs firmed.

Jerking out of his grasp, she spun on her heel and started marching toward the sidewalk. It was too dangerous. He needed to get out before he got caught and experimented on.

"Lois." His hand gently caught hers.

Being touched only fueled the fire. She turned. "What?!" A fight would push him away. He'd be devastated, but at least he'd be safe.

"That's not fair to be angry with me for taking you out of a dangerous situation." All the impatience left his voice, replaced with concern.

Panic helped feed rage. "You know what, you already take too many liberties thinking you're a body guard! We're not going on a date!"

His eyes narrowed and he let go of her hand.

It hurt to see coldness in his eyes, but it would keep him safe. Grief and pain brought forth genuine anger.

"You're pouting because I won't let you go chase a story that will end up in you getting your head blown off! I told you that I'll figure out who is after you!"

"I'm not some little woman! Go find a new partner!" She spun around to leave.

Suddenly, she was flung on his shoulder. "What are you doing?!" It came out as a screech. Trying to push up, she gasped as he headed toward a dumpster. "You wouldn't!"

"I would. It's a brand new dumpster and filled with shredded paper, princess. It's not dirty. You calm down and promise to stop doing stupid secret op missions, or I'm dumping you in. I should've done this on the weekend when you left my parents' house in the middle of the night after I told you not to. I didn't even know I could have a heart attack, but you sure gave me one!" He swatted her bottom, strong enough for a lite sting.

A huge gasp and flailing legs didn't make him move away from the dumpster. "You didn't have a heart attack, you gave me one when you showed up in the middle of the country road at midnight! You're lucky the taxi driver was too stunned to register it was a human and not a deer in the road! You're an idiot! I'm not coming after you when they lock you up in some lab!"

The world flipped, and paper flew up everywhere as she laid on her back and stared at the sky. Oh, there was no need to fabricate a fight now! Her jaw dropped. "You animal!" Flailing to get up only resulted in more shredded paper flying everywhere.

He propped his arms up on the edge, a cocky grin on his face. The idiot had to be flying because the dumpster was at least six feet deep. "I'm not the one scrounging in a dumpster, sweetheart."

Picking up a handful of paper, she threw it at him. Only, it went everywhere before it reached him. "Ugh!"

"Are you going to calm down and listen to me?" He propped his chin in his hand, like he had all the time in the world. "I'll pull you out if you agree to be reasonable."

"Go away! I'll get myself out! Then I'm calling your mother to tell her what you did, you pig!"

His chuckle only spurned the anger. "If I tell her why I tossed you in a clean dumpster of paper, I think you'll be the one scolded." The smirk faded as she tried to climb up the far side away from him. "Lois, I'm serious. You're getting death threats at work and have had three attempts on your life since this sewage plant incident. All I'm asking is you don't go out in the middle of the night playing detective. I was willing to let you come along today."

The high heel slipped, and she dropped onto her bottom. The indignity and stupidity of this whole thing didn't bode well for him. "I survived five years in the city without you!" She tossed her shoes out and then began to climb barefoot to gain traction. "I don't need a body guard, Man of Steel," she huffed.

"Lois, please don't climb barefoot. You might cut your foot on the metal."

"Then you shouldn't have thrown me in a dumpster! Go away!"

"Lois—"

"Go away!"

A heavy sigh and then silence. She looked over her shoulder, almost half way up the side.

The shoes flew back in, but he was nowhere in sight.

It did hurt to climb barefoot, so she dropped back in and put on the heels.

Five more minutes of trying to climb out proved fruitless. He must've left, like she'd snapped at him to do. Sinking down against the side of the dumpster, a few more minutes ticked past. Pride prevented from calling him for help.

Even if he had left, he'd still be able to hear the words. "You don't have to be scared of anyone. You don't have to look over your shoulder and wonder how soon he'll grow sick of the games," she whispered as tears welled.

Clark suddenly knelt before her, his eyes wide. "You know, don't you? You know who is sending men to do his dirty work, but you're afraid to say. You knew he'd be there today, and you needed to see for yourself that it's him." Horror paled his complexion. "You've been sneaking away when I tell you not to because you know I'm on alert—you want me to follow because you're trying to lead me to him."

Bowing her head, her lips quivered and tears darkened the tan business skirt.

His voice fell to a deep, deadly growl, and the dumpster groaned under his weight. "You have proof, don't you? Something slipped, and he left proof linking to him that you witnessed, so he wants you dead." His breathing grew louder with anger. He eased her out and set her on the ground against the wall, having care as his body grew impossibly hard in reaction to her fear.

Trembling grew worse. "There's no way to stop him. No one would believe it, and anyone who did would be silenced. He always gets what he wants." Her face crumpled as she raised her head to meet his eyes that had dilated to pure black.

He shrugged off his sports coat and draped it around her shoulders. "You tried to start a fight so I'd get a new partner, didn't you?" he seethed. He dropped to his hands to be eye level. "Something happened at the sewage plant that terrified you enough to no longer want me involved. Dammit, Lois, he can't hurt me, and I'm not going to let him hurt you." The words vibrated through his chest in a deadly growl.

Tears streamed down. "There's no way to stop him," she whispered. "After he's finished with me, he'll go after your parents when he realizes he can't hurt you. He'll go after Perry and Jimmy and everyone until he learns how to get to you."

"Tell me what you saw there that has you this terrified," he ordered.

"He won't stop. It's too dangerous. If he finds the crystal, he won't hesitate to kill you."

His muscles grew even more, if possible, and strained his shirt. "I sure as hell am not going to sit by and watch him go after you."

"Please, if he finds out about you, he'll do experiments and tortures. He'll eventually figure out how to kill you." A hand over her mouth muffled a sob. "No one can stop him. He fears no one."

Dark anger filled his eyes, his nostrils flared with rage, and he snarled, "That's all about to change for Lex Luther."

He shot straight into the blue sky, almost too fast to be seen. A crack of thunder rumbled through Metropolis.


	14. Chapter 14

"Lois! Why the Samhill are you still at your desk? I told you that vigilante was sighted in the Square a few minutes ago!" Perry called from his office doorway five days later.

"It's not a vigilante when he's handing over the criminals to the police without a scratch on them, Chief."

"Go find out who he is! No reporter has nailed down an interview yet, and you're going to get him first!"

With a sigh, she stood and glanced at Clark's empty desk. He'd called Perry after that fight at the dumpster, claiming he needed time off to help his dad with minor flooding at the farm after a storm. Maybe the fake-turned-real argument had worked. There hadn't been a peep from him. It hurt that he'd left right after telling him about being afraid of dying at Lex's hands.

A delivery had arrived at home last night—a bouquet of the most beautiful yellow roses, with blooms as big as her hand, and no note. It didn't take much to realize they were from Lex. There'd been very little sleep last night. But at least Clark would be safe this way.

* * *

Climbing out of the cab at the Square, she hurried over to the edge of the crowd. Police barricades had been set up around a museum. "Lois Lane, The Daily Planet. What's going on?" She looked from the policeman to where gunfire broke out inside.

"Gunmen took hostages. That vigilante in blue went in there a minute ago!"

She frowned. "You saw what he looked like?"

He looked at her cross-eyed. "Where have you been? Everyone knows the clown. He wears a blue suit and red cape. And he moves—"

A slew of hostages ran out of the building.

The crowd went wild with cheers as a man in a blue suit and cape came out, holding two men in black by the shirt collars.

He was too far away to see much aside from black, slick-backed hair, and he seemed to be slightly taller than the criminals and officers.

The police ran up and handcuffed the men.

Darting under the barricades, she ran toward the man in blue for an interview.

His back faced her. The wind blew, moving his cape out of the way. The suit looked to be some kind of plastic-like spandex that clung to his muscles, leaving little to the imagination. His arm muscles had to be as thick as her thighs. No strands of gray colored his black hair, so he must be young.

He stood with his arms crossed and legs braced as he spoke with the police, confidence exuding from him. A sexy, do-gooder vigilante.

This was going to be a good scoop.

"Excuse me!" She hurried to him, ignoring the police from the blockades yelling for her to stop. "Sir! Lois Lane from—"

He turned.

Slamming to a halt, the shock took a moment to register.

Clark.

No expression crossed his face, but he held her eyes. Then he bolted straight into the sky.

"No!" Oh god, no. He'd just exposed himself to hundreds of witnesses.

A roar of amazement swept through the crowd.

Sulking over Clark the past few days had meant ignoring much of the gossip and news about the vigilante. How much he'd exposed his capabilities? And how many? Hurrying to the crowd, people were more than eager to share stories sightings of him.

The vigilante.

The man in blue.

The superhero.

Everyone had their own name for him. His reputation for rescues in Metropolis had spread like wildfire in only a matter of days.

* * *

She sat on the sofa that evening and typed up notes. Pages and pages of witnesses from house fires, car accidents, burglaries, muggings...he'd been everywhere.

Flying, breath strong enough to smother fires, heat vision that melted metal, faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than steel, hearing for miles...every one of his capabilities had been exposed by him during rescues.

Why? After thirty years of hiding, knowing the dangers of exposure, why did he suddenly storm the world now?

The news reported sightings of him in Paris, Germany, China, Africa...

"What the hell are you doing, Clark?" she whispered and flipped to another news station that reported stories of this mysterious rescuer.

A gust of wind blew the front window open.

She stood to go close it.

Clark stood on the windowsill in the cape. "May I come in?"

With a nod, nothing at all and everything came to mind to say.

He stepped down and closed the window before turning to face her, his arms crossed over his chest and legs braced apart. He didn't seem like...Clark. "I imagine you have a lot of questions."

Wrapping her arms around herself, she met his eyes. "Why? Why would you expose yourself? Why make a spectacle and become a target? You're all over the news. How will there not be a bounty on your head in the Black Market?"

"The vigilante and Clark Kent are two, separate identities—"

"Glasses are not enough of a disguise to keep you safe!" That burst out in a panic. Running a hand through her hair to calm down, she set a hand on her hip. "Why did you do this?"

"For you," he said quietly.

A sickening knot formed deep down. "Don't say that. You know I didn't want you to tell anyone so you wouldn't be caught."

He stepped forward and set his hands on her arms. "Lex Luthor needs someone to fear. Crime keeps rising in Metropolis because the police can't keep up. I won't harm anyone, but I'll put the fear of God in those who need it."

"So you _are_ like some vigilante." She twisted out of his grasp.

"No, I'll show people what good and justice and hope mean."

"What, like some savior? The world doesn't need that! Neither does it need some vigilante!" She pushed on his chest as the fear for him grew greater than for herself. "I never asked you to do this to keep Lex away!"

"I know, and it was my choice." He pulled her into his arms.

"Why did you do this?" she wept against his chest. "They're going to hurt you."

"No, Lois. Most people are good. It'll be alright. I visited Lex a few nights ago."

Every muscle froze. "No. No, no, no. Tell me you didn't." Backing up, she sank onto the sofa behind. "He'll see it as a challenge."

A frown wrinkled his brow. "No, I don't think he'll bother you anymore."

"He sent flowers." She pointed to the bouquet—too big to fit in the trash—laying on the floor beside the trash can.

Clark remained silent for a moment. "Roses from Germany. They were growing in a field where nothing else was surviving." A smile cracked his lips. "Too stubborn to give up trying, I suppose. Just like you."

Her eyes widened. "They're from you? Oh, Clark, there was no note, so I assumed..." Walking over, she picked up the poor flowers that had begun to wilt.

He followed and set a hand on her back. Then he reached into the center of the bouquet and pulled out a small card that had fallen inside.

 _To my best friend, who has taught me what strength is._

"Oh, Clark. They're beautiful."

The man gave a gracious smile. "Well, they were." His fingers ran through her hair. "Would Ms. Lane like an exclusive with the vigilante?" A note of humor touched his voice.

Pulling out a vase, she set up the flowers with water. "Mm, let me guess," she replied dryly, "you're trying to butter me up so I won't be so upset over this whole thing."

He folded his hands behind his back and shrugged, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"I won't be your personal press manager. One interview is all I'll do. If you want to do this suicide mission after that, you do it alone." She put the roses in the vase.

He stepped up from behind and slowly swept his hands down her arms to where her fingers arranged the flowers.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Come now, Lois," he purred deep in his chest, "you wouldn't abandon me if I was captured."

"I'm not your safety net," she purred right back.

A deep, lazy chuckle vibrated against her back. "You throw my own words back at me? I'm wounded." He eased her around to face him.

Tilting her chin up, a haughty look didn't seem to faze him. "No, you can't be wounded."

His arm slipped around, and his hand guided hers over his heart. "Right here I can be," he breathed.

Her knees grew weak. Stepping back, she grabbed a pen and pad from the counter. "It wouldn't look good for someone to look through the window and see the vigilante so familiar with a woman." Leaning down on the counter, propping a chin in hand helped to get some distance from his very perfect body. "First question: what's your name?"

"Name?" His eyebrows rose as he folded his thick arms over his broad chest.

"Yes. What should you be called? People are calling you The Man in Blue, The Viligante... What should I write for your name?"

Those blue eyes searched so intently that it grew far too warm in the room. That husky note still remained in his voice. "I don't care what people call me. What do _you_ call me?"

Glancing down at the paper for a moment to stop the heart palpitations worked...until meeting his eyes again.

His eyes flicked to her chest for a moment, as if knowing exactly what he did to her.

"Idiot With a Bounty?" She cocked an eyebrow.

That won a smile as he broke eye contact to scratch his cheek. "You've made your point. I'm not changing my mind about this whole thing. Kal-El."

"What?"

A serious look overcame him. "Dr. Klein cleaned out the cellar. We found a crystal ball in the vessel, with a recording from my birth father."

The pen slipped from her fingers. It distantly registered as the pen hit the floor. His father. Answers he'd been seeking his entire life.

When she stepped closer to set a hand on his arm, he turned away and bent down to retrieve the pen. And he fidgeted with it for a moment. "My parents named me Kal of the House of El." Sadness filled his eyes when he met her gaze. "I was born on a planet, Krypton, that's a little more than two years away from Earth. The planet was going to collide with its red Sun, so my father created the vessel. I was put on it at just a few days old, and my parents here saw it crash on Earth two years later." He swallowed hard. "Dr. Klein was right all along."

"It doesn't change who you are or who you've been the past thirty years _here_." She set a hand over his heart. "I don't care if you're from Earth or Krypton or Mars." She stroked his cheek. "I understand that this is a huge deal for you, and I don't mean to belittle it by any means, but you're good and kind and so much stronger than you even realize yet. You're my Clark. In the end, it's that simple for me."

His lips pressed together, and he looked away for a moment. "I wished so hard when I was younger to find out who my birth parents were, why they'd abandoned me, and why anyone would stick their child in a sick spaceship contraption." Then he looked at her, his eyes slightly red with unshed tears. "Now I wish I didn't know. I never thought there'd be any name worse than 'freak.'"

"What name?" she whispered, tears stinging at the sight of him in so much pain.

"Alien. Part of me kept hoping Dr. Klein was wrong." His voice cracked.

"Oh Clark." Wrapping him in a hug hurt, because it was proof that nothing could protect him from this pain. "I promise that someday this won't hurt so much because it won't matter so much. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. Look at it from this point: I'm an alien to you. Does that change your mind about me?"

"No. That's different." He clung tight, as if needing every ounce of comfort.

"It's not. The world doesn't revolve around you, Clark."

That earned a watery laugh. "Technically, it could if I fly fast enough." He straightened.

A laugh and swat on his shoulder seemed to help him relax. "You abandon me for a week, and look at the trouble you get into."

He frowned. "I've been watching you walk home at night and scan your place a couple times a night to make sure you're alright." His finger hooked under her chin. "I wouldn't abandon you."

When her cheeks burned, he cracked a smile and let go, handing over the pen.

Drawing a steadying breath, she took it and looked down at the blank notepad. "What does the 'S' stand for on your suit? And why the suit?" She frowned and met his gaze.

"It was in a hidden compartment in the vessel. It's not an 's,' it's the family crest and a symbol that means 'hope.' It's apparently common dress on Krypton. Mom thought a cape would be a nice touch and is pretty proud of it." He cracked a smile and fingered the red material. "Myself, I think it's a good way to keep a certain lady warm when I fly her." His smile grew, and he flung each side of the cape to cocoon her in with him.

A shy smile tugged. His chest felt particularly strong under the tight material. "What is this made out of?"

"I don't know. Try to pull it."

Trying to slip a finger under it at his neck didn't work. It adhered like a second skin. She frowned and tried again.

He cracked a smile and easily slipped his finger under the collar. "It only comes off if I do it. No matter the temperature, I don't get hot or cold."

Slipping an arm around his back to feel for a zipper, a frown tugged to find it smooth. "How do you get it off?"

"It stretches. Although, they must not drink because it's incredibly inconvenient to use the restroom." He shrugged. "It's actually more comfortable than anything I've ever worn."

"You said they have a red sun. Is that why you have capabilities here and you get your energy from the sun? Because it's not red?" The suit seemed to radiate his body heat, and it grew quite warm being wrapped up with him.

"You are a quick reporter." He smiled and dropped the cape, as if noticing her discomfort. "Yes."

Turning to the notepad, she paused and looked at him. "What of this do you want in the story?"

He shrugged. "It sounds like the planet exploded, so I don't see how it matters to not say any of it."

Nibbling on the end of the pen, she thought a moment. "Maybe we leave the vessel part out. That wouldn't be good to have someone go hunting and find that green crystal."

"Kryptonite. My father said it was an energy source on Krypton and powered the vessel. Apparently Dr. Klein was right that it wasn't harmful there."

She nodded and scratched down notes. "What about your name? Do you want that in there?"

"I think it's alright."

"Why not?" she snorted. "You've already given away everything else about you. You're like some super man and...it..." The words died as it dawned. Then she looked at his chest and then met his eyes. "Superman."

"Hm?"

A smile grew. "Your name. Superman. You can do everything like some super human, and—let's face it—you're very naïve with your morals."

He scowled. "Just because I help strangers and open doors for women doesn't mean I'm naïve."

She patted his chest. "Uh huh, sure. Exposing yourself because it'll keep Lex away isn't naïve at all." Then she turned to the notepad and wrote more. "Are you six-foot-two-inches?"

"Six-four. Why?"

"Because a good reporter gets all the facts. Have I taught you nothing? What's your weight? When you're not having a reaction."

"Two hundred twenty-five. Lois, I don't think that matters."

Her eyes flew to him. "Two twenty-five?" Looking him up and down, it did seem to fit. "That's a lot of muscle." That sounded too breathless. Clearing her throat, she jotted it down. "When you have a reaction, how much do you weigh?" The pen stilled and a blush crept up as she slowly glanced up at him.

A slight smile twinkled in his eyes. "Five hundred ten."

"Oh," she breathed, unable to look away.

"Any other questions, or may I kiss you now?"

More palpitations. Dragging her eyes away, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You enjoy baiting me, don't you?"

"Causing a beautiful woman's heart to flutter serves a man's confidence well. It lets him know she doesn't mind the pursuit." His hand rested on the counter right beside hers, and he stepped close enough to feel his body heat."

The desire for him grew so strong. "Clark, I think your pheromones..."

His chest brushed against her back. "I can't release pheromones unless kissing," he said softly, his voice husky.

Cheeks burned hot in utter embarrassment, and she slid away from between him and the counter.

He didn't move for several seconds from where he was visible from the corner of her eye. "Do you not wish to desire me?" The words were quiet and not accusing, but an undertone of self-consciousness slipped out.

"No, but I just admitted..."

"I could smell your body chemistry change anyways, Lois. I don't want you to be embarrassed. It helps to know that I don't disgust you. I desire you too. Very much."

She turned to face him. Gentleness and caring and some other, stronger emotion reflected in his eyes. Heartache bloomed. "You know that you can't court two beings at once—the world and I. One will eventually have to give you up, and we both know the world will come to rely on you."

He shook his head and took her hand. "This will work, Lois. You'll see. If it comes down to choosing, it'll be you. The world has done without me for thirty years."

"You know I won't be that selfish." Sadness withheld finding any comfort in his touch.

His arms wrapped around, and he met her eyes. "It won't be your decision to have to make. This will work, you'll see."

With a sigh, she held on tight and rested her cheek on his chest.

"Stand on my feet," he said. "I've been practicing something."

Looking up at him in confusion, she stepped up with her bare feet.

He slowly rose. There was no shaking or tremors. It felt no different than standing on the ground.

Blinking in surprise, she looked down. He hovered a few inches. "You learned how to not shake."

"Increasing the intensity of the vibrations would make them impossible for you to feel. We can practice getting used to heights a little at a time now." He smiled.

Her heart melted as she searched his eyes. "Is it hard to do?"

"No." He shook his head. "It requires a little more concentration, but it's not difficult, with practice."

The room very slowly turned as he floated in the kitchen.

"I didn't think about it. Are you going to keep 'Clark'?"

A tiny line creased his brow. "Of course. What else would I use?"

She shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to use your birth name."

He shook his head. "I think Kal-El will be reserved for Superman." Laughter danced in his eyes.

"Are you laughing at my name for you?" Her jaw dropped in mock offense.

Chuckles filled the room. "Not at all. But, it does sound like a name from a woman with a crush."

Her smile died instantly.

"Lois, I'm teasing." His smile grew. "I see why you chose it."

Clearing her throat, she gave him a look. "You're doing a good job not aiming for a kiss tonight."

"Ah. My apologies, Ms. Lane." A mischievous glint filled his eyes. His head leaned down, as if for a kiss, but he stopped just a breath away. "Your heart is beating faster than a rabbit's. I think you may be bluffing," he whispered.

His cinnamon scent and the warmth of his body and gentleness of his touch were enough to make her eyes flutter closed. "This suit seems to have turned you into a womanizer," she breathed, wanting nothing more than his kiss.

"It's purely one woman I want," he breathed against her lips before sealing his words with a kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

She started jotting down some things about him, and then looked up from the notepad. "No mention of Kryptonite."

"Agreed."

"I'm not sure what to ask you."

"I hope you don't already know every single thing about me," he smiled.

"Well, no, but we can't tell them things about your childhood that would give your parents away. Or what you do all day. Or - "

"Where is that Pulitzer Prize winner? She would have a thousand questions," he teased. "It's alright to ask me things, Lois. I'm a source right now, nothing more."

She bit her lip, still not knowing where to start.

"How can I run fast and not run into things?" he offered.

With a shy smile, she started writing it down and knew he sensed her nervousness about interviewing him.

"Everything looks to me like it does to you when you walk. Nothing blurs together, and I can see a fly in the way. But when I'm still, things move slower than they do for you."

She looked up at him in surprise.

"I can see a truck barreling down the road about to hit someone when they think it's suddenly there."

"So when someone picks up a cup of coffee, it looks to you like it's taking them a long time?"

"Just a couple seconds longer than it does to you."

"So when you move fast, that is your normal speed?"

He nodded. "Being I didn't get my capabilities until I was an older child, I learned what the world moves like to humans and how to move at a speed normal to humans. I had to practice maintaining that speed when I was older."

A smile tugged at her lips. "So we all look like big klutzes to you."

He shook his head and looked at her seriously. "You are the only one who appears to move at a normal pace to me."

She frowned and cocked her head. "Even when we're only with one or two people?"

He nodded. "It's the strangest thing. When Mom hands you a cup, it looks like it happening slowly, but your movements are fluid. The cup will suddenly appear in your hands when it's only almost to you."

She frowned. "Isn't it hard for you to be around me then?"

He shook his head. "It seems like it would be, but I adapted to it almost instantly. I don't have to concentrate to know what's coming. It's almost like instinct that I can read what you're doing a split second before you do. But when it's just you and I at our places, everything looks fluid to me."

She cocked her head. "Can you smell changes in other people?"

He shook his head. "Only you. And the longer I'm around you, the more I can smell of you. And," he frowned and bit his lip, "you're coming down with a cold."

She sighed and rolled her eyes in disgust.

"We'll load you up on orange juice and chicken noodle soup tonight," he smiled.

"Why not be a doctor?"

He blinked, surprised by her question.

"You are almost a walking hospital. Why not be a doctor?"

"I thought about it, but there is way too much risk. I would be doing ultrasounds and x-rays on patients the second they got in the ER and be treating things that everyone else wouldn't know why without seeing the results. And if there were two people dying, I could not control myself to not zoom between the two of them."

"So instead you try to prevent the crimes and accidents," she told herself. "Why bother? They are strangers. Why bother saving them? And why not beat the criminals? Some are put on death row anyways."

"Because that person I save is not a stranger but someone's father, mother, brother, sister, son, or daughter. And just because I am stronger does not give me the right to hurt someone. My place is not to judge who is worth saving and who should be beaten. My place is to prevent violence. I have not known any other home than earth. I have the ability to make this home a better place-a place without violence where women don't need to fear beatings from husbands, where children don't need to fear someone will snatch them up when walking to school, where parents and spouses and children don't need to fear if their soldier will come home again."

"If the US government asks you to join the military, would you?"

He smiled. "Your questions are getting hard. No, I would not." She looked surprised.

"The military serves by means of force and violence sometimes because those are the lengths that humans are forced to use in order to stop mass genocides or bombings. I am able to stop violence by other methods not involving violence, and I will do so. If the government asked me to stop an incoming warhead, I would. If they asked me to drop a warhead, I would not."

"And your loyalty lies with the US?"

"My loyalty lies with peace. I will not deny any country that comes to me to stop violence within or among countries. But I will not assist in wars, US or otherwise."

She set down her pencil. "That's a dangerous statement, Clark. You heard them already wanting to claim Superman isn't an American citizen. This could give them the wrong impression that you're a threat to the country. I won't include that, Clark. It will make you enemies in America."

"Then don't write it. It's my answer whether they like it or not."

She sighed and picked up her pencil. "They will ask if you were going to come forward if you hadn't been spotted saving me."

"No. I don't want the publicity and the risk. I would have continued helping people as I came across situations."

"And do you regret it?"

He thought a moment. "I don't know. I will be able to help so many more people now with it out, but the world is not accepting of something they don't understand. We heard it at the press conference—I'm an outcast and have enemies whom I've never met," he said quietly. "I think I will regret it."

She set down her pencil and looked at him sadly. "You're not an outcast," she said softly and touched his cheek. "You have people who love you. And we will battle your enemies together."

* * *

"What do you mean a press conference?" Clark asked in a panic the next day at The Daily Planet.

Perry shrugged. "Metropolis is in an uproar, afraid of this vigilante—"

"Whoa, Perry, he's not a vigilante. He's saved people and helped the cops catch criminals. He's never harmed anyone," she cut in.

"Not yet. The Mayor is making a public announcement in a few minutes to ask this guy to talk. The public is panicking because he can fly, crush cars with his bare hands, shoot lasers from his eyes...he could be a manace. The Mayor is just asking to meet with him to find out his motives. In the meantime, you have had contact with him, Lois."

The blood drained to her feet and the room threatened to spin. "What contact? Who says—"

Perry held up a picture of her and Clark in his blue suite talking in her apartment last night.

She snatched it and studied the angle. "Who? This is invasion of privacy! You can't publish this!"

Despite the crazies who might use her to get to Clark, someone would undoubtedly use it to spin a story about an affair. A tarnish on this new superhero was not something Clark needed.

"Chief, all this proves is Lois tried to earn this guy's trust last night." Clark slipped the photo from her hands and turned toward the wall, away from Perry. His eyes glowed, probably getting a closer look at the photo for some kind of clue as to who took it.

"Settle down, you two. I'm not going to publish it. Someone else is tailing this guy besides you, Lois. Get an exclusive with him—"

Clark spun around, his eyes back to normal, and handed the photo to Perry. "Things are spinning out of control, Chief. I don't think this guy is going to want to do an interview right now. Lois can attest to his character at the press conference. Too many spotlights, and he's going to run, Chief. We squash the public's fears of him with this conference and draw him out. We have to earn his trust as much as the public's."

Perry nodded. "You make a good point, kid. Lois, get ready for the press conference in five."

She threw up again in the sink in Perry's private bathroom. Clark held back her hair and laid a cold rag on the back of her neck. "Easy, Lois," he said soothingly. "Just make the statement that we discussed, and then the press conference is done."

She rinsed her mouth. "We work for the damn press. You know they won't leave it alone."

"Lois, if we hide, we look more suspicious. Don't look nervous."

"No reason to be nervous. If I can't spin this around, it's only your head at Area 51," she whispered and splashed water on her face.

Perry walked in. "Lois! Let's go."

Clark stayed beside her, calmly helping her answer questions that she didn't know how far to answer. The front steps and street of City Hall were packed with the press and citizens.

"Is he an alien?" a reporter asked.

Clark drummed his finger once on the notebook in his hands, indicating to Lois to tell the truth.

She took a steadying breath, knowing that Clark's life lay in her hands. "Is he like us? Yes. He has emotions and morals and everything like we do. He was raised on this planet from infancy and is no different from us in any way except what we already mentioned for physical abilities."

"Is he dangerous?"

"How could he possibly be dangerous? He has walked among us for decades and never harmed anyone. He has only helped people."

"Are others going to come?"

Two taps from Clark. "No."

"Why is he here?"

She glanced at Clark, uncertain how far to go other than release some of the facts that were going to be in the interview article from last night. But then again, Clark had begun to protest releasing any article at all for just this reason—the public would panic.

Clark's eyes remained forward, offering only his profile. No taps at all. Did that mean to make something up? Or, did he not want people to know?

"His world was destroyed when he was a baby. His parents sent him away in hopes that he would survive, and he landed on earth," she said carefully, omitting that his father had been to and studied Earth first.

"Will he be coming to this press conference?"

"No," she said firmly. "He is more vulnerable to us than we are to him."

"Are you in a relationship with him? Are you protecting him?"

Her heart slammed. The sun suddenly seemed too hot. Too many eyes watched. Nausea swam up.

A very soft, icy breeze blew across the side of her neck, making the panic fade.

"No, and of course I'm not urging him to come forward. There are those who would persecute him simply because he is different."

"Who has raised him?"

"I don't know."

"Is he from the ship found in South Dakota thirty years ago?" a male voice asked.

Her eyes fell to the voice, and she stopped breathing. Lex.

Clark took a deep, heavy breath that her ears seemed to hone in on. His hand came up to rest on the edge of the podium, and the metal began to creak. He was reacting to her fear.

Letting her pinkie finger rest over his hand, a calmness washed through and erased the panic. Clark needed her to be strong. His hand slowly began to soften under her touch.

Meeting Lex's gaze suddenly didn't seem as terrifying as it once had. "I do not know."

"Come now, Miss Lane," he smiled. "You're a reporter. Surely you've dug deeper than this."

She kept her composure and didn't make eye contact with Clark, scared that Lex would read through her. "What I know is he is an American citizen and—"

"Surely the government would not call an extraterrestrial an American citizen," Lex scoffed, rapidly twisting the story. "What other purpose could he possibly have than to be here to learn our ways and weaknesses so his kind can invade us?"

Commotion and fear rose in the crowd.

Slipping her hand into Clark's on the podium, out of view from everyone, she held tight for courage. And he held right back. "And have you met him, Mr. Luther?"

"I have." He turned to the people.

Her heart started slamming, sure he was about to expose Clark. Overwhelming fear choked, unlike anything felt before. Being held at gun point or drowned or kidnapped all seemed like child's play compared to the terror of Clark being harmed.

"He transforms into a creature at the slightest whim and killed—"

She started laughing hysterically, her nerves finally breaking.

"Lois?" Clark whispered.

Everyone looked at her.

"I'm sorry, but that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Mr. Luther, you are good at quoting the Aliens From Beyond book released ten years ago." The laughter cut just as suddenly and was replaced with a deadly glare of warning—a look learned so well from Lex all those times it'd been used to make her quake in fear.

Lex's eyes narrowed, and his face reddened when she didn't flinch this time. He looked ready to explode. "You watch. He will turn on us, and we will have no one to blame but Lois Lane for hiding him from us!"

Clark quickly leaned forward to the mic. "Miss Lane is not in question here. Her works have always proven factual and insightful. I, myself, have met this Superman, and I have never felt threatened around him. He has helped countless people. It is my belief that he truly wants to help people and be a symbol for good. We are bombarded with the news every day throwing crime and murder in our faces. And we are ready to attack someone who could change our world for the better? He has capabilities that none of us do. What if your child is kidnapped? We have all heard the horrifying stories of tiny, innocent bodies being found. Or never found at all. What if we had someone who could find your child within minutes or hours? What if a gunman walked into a mall and opened fire, but we had someone who could walk in there and have the gunman in custody before the first bullet killed your family?

"We are so quick to judge what we do not see as normal. Men like Albert Einstein and Henry Ford and Walt Disney were called crazy because they had visions for the world that would change history. It takes one man. It takes one man to have a vision and be willing to stand up, risking everything, to try to make this world a better place. He can give us something mankind has never been able to attain—peace on earth. It takes one man to have a vision, but it takes a nation to start making a dream this big be a reality. Will you be that nation that has the strength to take the first step?"

Everyone was silent. And then the questions surged forth, the energy and hope unbelievable.

Clark glanced at Lois and they walked away.

They got back into Perry's office and shut the door while Perry closed out the conference.

Lois swore and turned to him. "That was damn good, Clark. Oh my god. That was Pulitzer Prize amazing."

His eyes were unsure. "What have I done? I can't live up to that." He dropped into a chair.

She knelt beside him. "Yes, you can, Clark."

"They think I'm a monster. No one will believe otherwise."

She slipped her hand into his. "I believe in you," she said softly.

Perry burst in. "Clark, that was superb! Clark?"

Lois stood up with a hand on Clark's back. "He's a little shaken up with it being his first press conference and all."

"Oh." Perry walked to his desk.

She looked at Clark in apology and shrugged.

"He sure blew you out of the water, Lois."

Clark frowned. "Chief."

"I know," she smiled proudly at Clark.

"You two, I want a story about this Superman for tomorrow morning. This is hot." He dropped into his desk chair.

"Perry, this guy shows up when and where he wants," she said when Clark looked panicked. "He finds us, we don't find him."

"Lois, you track down this guy and get a picture, and I will make you assistant editor and let you pick half of your stories. Huge raise for both of you too."

She shook her head when Clark started to agree. "No, this man is too exposed right now. I will see if I can find him and if he'll give an interview, but I won't splash his face all over the papers. A good reporter protects her sources. And I will not be the Pontus Pilot of this man."

"You agree with this?" Perry demanded of Clark.

"Well, she has good points, Chief. If we spook him, he might disappear for good."

He threw up his hands. "Don't know why they call me boss when you clearly run the place," Perry huffed.

She walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Cuz you have a heart, boss," she said softly and headed for the door. "I'll send it over by morning if we get anything."

"Thanks, Lois," Clark said quietly on the way to their desks to pack up for their fake hunt. "I didn't think about all of that."

"That's why I'm your partner, big guy. You need somebody on their toes while you're out saving the world." She grabbed her stuff and headed for the elevator.

He smiled, grabbed his things, and trotted after her.

* * *

Clark took her to a remote ice cave in Canada that would be safe from the prying eyes. He had her bundled in snow gear for the 10-degree weather. He, though, only wore his work suit but seemed perfectly comfortable.

"Okay, let's do that story," he said and set her down.

She looked at him for a minute. "Maybe we should say we couldn't find Superman. It might not be good for us to be too tied to him."

"Lois, you will get a huge promotion. This is bigger than what you hoped to get. I can't let you turn this down."

She set her gloved hands on his chest and looked up at him. "You are more important."

He smiled. "And so are you. We can get away with this because naturally Superman would contact you after the conference."

"Did you notice anyone outside my apartment when you left last night? Who would be following you?"

"I didn't see or hear anyone, but I wasn't exactly on the lookout either."

She sighed. "Maybe it's Lex. He clearly doesn't like Superman. I need to go talk to him. Pick me up and let's go back."

He didn't say anything for a minute and then crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not taking you to see a lunatic."

With a sigh of disgust, she waved her hand. "Okay, you can hover outside the window or something if I need a rescue, which I won't."

"No."

"I'll pretend I'm working on the story—"

"No."

"But—"

"Lois," he warned.

"You arent' going to talk to him yourself! He'll kill you!"

His eyebrows rose in skepticism.

"Well, he'll figure out how! Clark, let's go!" She rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to be picked up.

He stood there as calm as could be and didn't budge.

"Ugh! Sometimes I hate working with you!" She stormed away.

She came back a couple minutes later from the wind outside, shivering.

"You're freezing. Come here." He held out his arms from where he sat against the wall as if he had all the time in the world.

Throwing him an irritated look, she didn't move.

"You are so damn stubborn," he smiled. "Alright, freeze yourself." He dropped his arms. "I'm five degrees warmer than you right now."

She still didn't budge.

With a yawn, he tucked his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "Man, I'm so toasty."

With a sigh of disgust, she marched over and plopped down next to him.

He pulled off his sports coat and opened his shirt, and then lifted her into his lap. He pulled off her mittens and draped his sports coat over her to cocoon them together. Then he set her hands on his chest and guided her head on his shoulder to warm her cheeks. "Are your toes cold?"

She nodded.

He looked down at them. "Don't move."

A red beam came from his eyes to her boots, warming them up. She didn't have a good view of his face, but she looked away when blue and red veins showed through the skin around his eyes, spidering out down to his cheeks. The skin grew red until it looked like he was bleeding. Her heart raced for a second because he looked like something out of a horror movie. And that wasn't even a good view of his face.

He stopped a second later. "Warming up?"

"Thank you," she nodded.

"Are you alright?" He gave a single sniff and said, "You're scared."

She just shook her head, not having the courage yet to look at him.

"What's wrong...oh." His voice grew solemn. "Sorry. I didn't remember to tell you to not look. Mom said it's pretty creepy."

"I just didn't expect that," she said quietly. "Aren't you cold?"

"Nope." He wrapped his arms around.

"We should get going on that story."

"Alright." He let her go for a second so she could get situated with her pencil and notebook. And he laughed when she laid it against his chest like a desk and cuddled back under the coat with him.

"You're too warm to leave," she blushed. "Alright. Um...what should we write about?"

He held up a ring, and a blush rose in his cheeks. "While you were off pouting," he chuckled when she rolled her eyes, "I saw this crystal. It reminded me of you—vibrant, strong, and beautiful."

It was a beautiful blue, with even the band made of the crystal, as if the entire ring had been cut from one large stone.

"A jeweler could polish it—I'm not so good yet at laser vision."

Her breath caught as he slipped it on her right hand. "You made this? Just now?"

The man gave a soft shrug. "The blue reminds me of Superman's suit color. You have faith in me when the world doesn't, even me. You make me believe I can do the impossible, Lois." His large, warm hand cradled her cheek as he looked into her eyes. "I've never felt like I belonged anywhere, until you." His lips met hers in a beautiful kiss.

* * *

Perry finished reading her story as she and Clark sat in his office the next morning. "'...whom I've never met.' And the last thing he said to me will be burned in my mind. 'If I can help one person during all of this, then I shall not regret they have discovered me.' He sat there with quiet dignity and grace, believing himself to be alone in this world that has suddenly become his enemy, a threat to his life. Yet there he was, ready to risk everything to save us. I have tracked the number of rescues this man has done when he honestly could not tell me. Starting in childhood, this man has rescued people from harm or death 173 times. And those are only the documented cases. And only those in the US, not knowing how many he has saved in other countries. There have been cases of mysterious, supernatural rescues in Switzerland, Australia, China, Russia, and many more countries. They all hold the same pattern—the victims never got a glimpse of their rescuer but they all claim he felt like steel. Heroes rarely walk among us, so many of them lost to us when they die becoming heroes. Even fewer walk among us silently, never stepping forward for the recognition they deserve. But here is one, World. He walks among us, more afraid of us than we are of him, but he saves us every day. He is a faceless rescuer without a name. He is known in legends as the Man of Steel. I, myself, have been saved from death by him in my line of work several times, and he does feel like steel. But he is more than that and not as cold as the name implies. To me, he is none other than Superman."

Perry looked up at them as they stood there, Clark quiet and Lois pacing. "You wrote this, Clark?"

"No, chief. Lois wrote that. My copy wasn't that good," he said quietly.

She paced, worried more about Clark than Perry. They had argued last night, Clark angry that she had painted him to be far more than he was, making the piece too emotional. He had wanted it factual, cold, and distant, but preferably not run at all to keep her safe.

In the end, she had sent it to Perry without Clark's knowledge. And he clearly was seething.

"Lois, this is amazing. This has heart and facts and...this is worthy of a Pulitzer. The stories of his rescues and victims' interviews. I don't know how you threw this together in a night."

She didn't mention that she had been doing research last summer and conducting interviews off the clock.

"I'm submitting this for review of an award, Lois."

"No."

Both men looked at her in surprise.

"This is about Superman, not me, Perry. I want the world to take this seriously. If I get an award for it, they'll think I wrote it for the award." She leaned her hands on the desk. "This is about portraying Superman as a gentle man not that different from the rest of us. The world is scared of him."

"But—"

"Perry, his life could very well ride on how we present him to the world. Scientists want to chop him up and study him. Alien lunatics want him killed, believing he will lead to our demise."

"And you think he's our Savior."

"No, not our Savior but he can change the world, Perry. This man can do things we have never dreamed of. He can stop things like terrorist bombings and attacks."

"Then why hasn't he?"

"Because he is shackled, Perry. He is afraid of the world finding out about him, so he doesn't know his capabilities. He discovered weeks ago that he can fly. This man flew around the world in two minutes. He said he's never tried lifting more than a semi. I convinced him to try last night. He lifted a glacier of solid ice as big as the Mall of America. No one has ever believed in him, so he has never believed in himself. Why would he expose himself to the world when he didn't believe he could stop mass attacks? If we believe in him, he will be free, Perry."

He looked at her a minute. "Add that into this story. Bring it back in fifteen minutes for press."

"Or maybe he's just an ordinary guy who is just trying to help some people along the way." The softness of Clark's voice cut through the silence with more power than if he'd shouted it. The hurt was well-hidden from Perry, but every note in his voice wept with pain.

She spun to meet his eyes.

Clark glanced from Perry to her, with so much grief in his eyes. He feared her becoming a target if an interview published. After the photo and press conference, Clark argued that an exclusive interview would put her in danger with Lex trying to turn the world against an alien. Alien. That word had never caused feelings of disgust and hate for her...until meeting Clark.

Last night, Clark had threatened to expose himself before seeing her at risk. But he wouldn't really do that. Only someone deeply in love would do something like that. Clark was the most moral man ever met, and he simply felt morally obligated to protect her as a friend.

"Lois, add what you said to the story," Perry repeated.

Clark held her gaze, as if waiting for something.

When she took the paper from Perry, Clark shook his head and walked out.

She followed him quickly. "Clark," she protested. "I'm sorry I sent it in without telling you."

They went into the stairwell, and then he suddenly grabbed her.

The world stopped spinning and Clark set her down. It looked like a cave, and the temperature was comfortable, as if in summer weather.

"I was incredibly clear last night this was not to run," he snapped, his eyes angry.

"But you have to have something like this, Clark. Do you not understand how dangerous things are right now? We have a small window to calm a scared world."

He pointed a finger at her. "You had no right to do this," he hissed. "I don't give a damn if it's Pulitzer worthy, you had no right!" he shouted, his voice low enough to not hurt her ears, but loud enough to rumble the cave. And then he turned to slam his fist into the rock wall.

She startled. "Why are you so upset about this?"

He spun around. "Because it makes you look so attached to Superman!" he boomed. "It puts you in danger!"

The ceiling trembled and rock dust fell.

"You set yourself up to be a target for people to use to get to Superman!" His eyes dilated huge and the veins in his neck pulsed. He walked up to her and hissed, "You will convince Perry to not run it."

"But—"

"No buts," he barked and lifted her into his arms to leave.

"I won't retract the story."

His body trembled in controlled anger, and he set her down. "Lois," he said tightly and gripped the wall hard and bowed his head. "Retract the story...or I leave."

"Fine, I can see the next town. I'll get my own ride home."

"No." He turned to look at her, his eyes full of pain. "There is no more us."

She stared at him and felt her face pale. The thought of losing him hurt so much more than it should—as if losing a piece of her heart. "Clark, don't do this. This story can change how they view you. You see how they're starting to splash you across the media as a monster. They will slay you if no one challenges them," she said with tears in her eyes. "I will not run just because I might be in danger. For heaven sakes, I get kidnapped and held at gunpoint every day at work. This might save your life."

He swallowed hard. "And you will take anything I say when we're together to write articles to keep fighting them. I will not risk your life."

"Please," she begged, with tears in her eyes, and set her hands on his chest. "We're partners—you and I—whether that means as Clark or Superman."

Tears welled in his eyes.

"They are one and the same. You think you're alone, but you aren't. I won't leave you, no matter what they say."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he whispered and cupped her cheek as his thumb caressed a tear away.

A gust of wind and a crack of thunder, and he disappeared.

She walked to town in tears and emailed Perry the rest of the story. The story was an overnight sensation, and the world fell in love with and clamored for more about Superman.

* * *

One week and Clark still didn't show up at work. At least Martha and Jonathan had contact with him although they wouldn't elaborate, saying it was Clark's wish to be this way. At least he was safe.

Life hurt without him in it. Perry and Jimmy took turns stopping by her desk several times every day to drag her attention away from staring at Clark's empty desk.

She wasn't an easy one to get along with—there'd never been a true work partner or best friend before Clark. Or a man who made it safe to be vulnerable, or who drove her nuts but kept her needing more. And the hole that Country Boy left behind was unbearable at times.

* * *

She dug out a pint of ice cream to watch a flick after indulging in tears again from missing Clark. Closing the freezer door, she screamed.

Superman stood there in the living room, with his arms folded over his chest.

"Clark, what are you doing here?" she asked softly and set down the ice cream. Her heart took off. It'd been two weeks without any word from him. Was he back?

"My parents said I shouldn't stay away from the press for so long. I thought it only fair to tell you I'll be doing an interview with _The New York Times."_

Her heart fluttered to the floor and stilled as hope died and pain returned. He wasn't back.

"I won't be doing any interviews for you." His voice held a hard, cold edge.

"I didn't expect you to," she said quietly and dropped her gaze to his chest, unable to bear the disgust in his eyes.

"You haven't submitted more Superman articles."

"I don't run facts or quotes from sources without permission," she whispered.

He snorted. "You sure as hell didn't have trouble two weeks ago."

"You disagreed with my words, not anything with your quotes or facts," she quietly pointed out and held her hands together tight. Even when first meeting he hadn't kept this much of a physical distance. The fact that he did so now, that he didn't even notice or care about her nervous pain, spoke volumes as to the depth of his disgust. For the first time, all confidence fled and was replaced with shame.

"I heard Lex is pumping you for information."

Tears threatened, but he wouldn't see her cry. Clark was a fair and forgiving man, and she well-deserved his hatred. "I've told him nothing and have avoided his messages."

"But in the end, you chose to be a reporter."

"In the end, I'm loyal to you," she said quietly. "The story is out that needed to get out so the world wouldn't see you as a monster." She looked up and met his eyes. "In the end, you chose to give me an ultimatum that would hurt one of us," she said softly.

He didn't say anything.

She blinked, tears dropping onto the carpet, and looked down at the crystal ring she still wore. She slowly took it off and walked over to him, each step closer breaking her heart more. "This is yours," she whispered, unable to speak any louder through her tears and held out the ring.

He didn't move. "No, I gave it to you."

Her face crumpled and the tears flowed steadily, but she still couldn't look up and see the distain in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It hurts to breathe without you," he whispered. "I love you, Lois. I've loved you since that night a nosey reporter sat down at my parents' dinner table."

She burst into tears and buried her face in her hand.

"Lois," he said in a thick voice. "I gave an ultimatum because I didn't think you'd risk yourself for someone like me."

Her face crumpled to hear him speak so lowly of himself, and she dropped her hand. "Of course I'd do anything for you!"

His lips captured hers in a kiss, and his strong arms wrapped around to hold her against his chest, his hearts beating in rhythm with hers. He deepened the kiss, with confidence and love that he'd never shown her before, in a bittersweet goodbye.

"I don't know how else to protect you," he breathed. And then he was gone.

She sank to her knees and wept.


	16. Chapter 16

"Lois!" Perry bellowed two days later. "Get in here!"

She walked in, still not caring about anything since Clark left.

"Why is there an exclusive with Superman in _The_ _New_ _York_ _Times_?! You told me you would get exclusives!"

She shrugged. "Superman didn't like my story," she said quietly with eyes downcast.

"Lois," he said in a softer voice. "I think you need to take some time off. Clark's death only happened yesterday." When she blinked, he added, "Lois, I never saw someone unravel you and not be afraid to stand up to you like him, or someone who made you laugh and be so happy. You didn't lose just a partner, Lois; you lost your best friend. This isn't good for you to come to work and avoid it, sweetheart."

She swallowed back tears. Clark had left a note in her apartment last night explaining that he couldn't be both Clark and Superman, so he had faked his death. She had burned the note so no one would find it, but the fact that he was never coming back, at least as Clark... Superman could never have a private life. With Clark gone now, Superman gave his life to the world. He would forever be alone, living in shadows far darker than any he'd ever been in before. And she had forced him there.

"I need to focus on work." She sank into the chair, so much sadness welling up. "I can't take a new partner. I will cover the small stories and work alone."

"Honey, you're upset and not thinking clearly. Go home for the rest of the week. Go see your mom."

"The chemo cured her, and she's working full time again. She's in Italy right now doing a deal for the department store she buys for," she sniffled.

"Go see your sister."

"She's in college and working too."

"Lois, get away from here. Go see someone. You shouldn't be alone."

* * *

The phone rang to Jonathan's and Martha's house an hour later.

"Hello?" Jonathan answered.

"Hi, it's Lois." She swallowed hard. Hearing Clark's dad made the pain of losing Clark sting stronger.

"Is everything alright?"

Martha picked up the extra line. "Hi, Lois."

"Hi. Um, is it okay if I come over?" she asked tearfully.

"Oh. Um, I don't know, Lois," Jonathan said.

"Of course you can, dear," Martha cut in.

Jonathan whispered in the background, "Clark doesn't want any kind of contact that could expose Lois or him."

"Lois, you get on over here. If you leave this morning, you'll be here in time for an early dinner. I'll make some chocolate pudding."

There was no one else to talk to about Clark, so she ignored Jonathan's comment. "I'll make sure I'm not followed. Thanks." She hung up and headed over.

It was dinnertime when she arrived. Jonathan was cordial but distant, clearly uncomfortable with her presence.

Martha greeted her with a hug. "How are you? You look pale, dear." She led the way to the sofa and sat.

Jonathan sat in a chair.

She wiped at her eyes, shrugged, and sat beside Martha.

"You still have the ring on," Martha said sadly.

Embarrassment flooded that Martha knew about the ring and that she'd been caught with it on still, like someone who couldn't let go. It probably made Martha and Jonathan worry that she'd expose Clark.

"Oh," she sniffled and slid it up to the tip of her finger. But...just one more moment to memorize the way the crystal caught the light, every angle he'd cut, even the slightly crooked ones that made it so special. "Um, he wouldn't take it when I tried to give it back a couple days ago." Releasing a steadying breath, she slipped it off.

But Martha stilled her hand. "Lois, he wanted you to have it." Martha gave a hug and looked at Jonathan.

"Lois, I know it's hard. He wants to do what's best for you. It's not easy on him either," Jonathan said simply.

"No!" Martha snapped. "I don't understand what he's doing."

It wasn't good to cause stress between his parents. "Perry told me to take some time off. I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do or who to talk to..."

Martha's motherly stroke to smooth her hair back should've helped, but it only made the loneliness worse. "Lois, he's not dead, dear, but you look like he is."

Dropping her eyes, she spun the ring on her finger. "He won't have anything to do with me. He came a couple days ago to tell me he's never coming back." Tears threatened again.

"Because I love you."

Elation and shock and nervousness slammed all at once at the sound of a deep voice—his voice. Whatever he said didn't even register because all that mattered was seeing him. Whipping around, the breath caught in her throat.

He came down the stairs in a t-shirt and jeans.

Seeing him, being near him again was like coming alive from the dead. The oppressing grief and loneliness lifted like a dark cloud dissolved by the sun.

His face was expressionless—no hatred or sadness, but no joy either. He simply...didn't care.

And the sun disappeared. A pang of regret zinged through the chest in a way that hurt to breathe. Nearly a year ago he'd come down those stairs, a sarcastic, lost country boy. The world had unknowingly been waiting for him then. Now he came down the stairs, a gentle man who was becoming everything to the world. Now it was she who waited for him, even knowing he'd never come.

Shadows darkened his face as he came down the steps, the cocky, teasing glint gone from his eyes. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and simply held her gaze.

Oh god, she'd been staring. He didn't want to see her. Shooting to her feet, she backed up. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here." She snatched up her purse and flew out the door.

A mile down the road, the car suddenly slowed to a stop. She pressed the gas petal but it didn't go anywhere. Then a glance in the rearview mirror revealed why. Clark stood back there holding the fender.

Throwing the car into park, she got out and slammed the door. "What the hell?!"

He let go of the car but didn't speak, simply slipping his fingertips into his jeans pockets.

Dear heaven, he looked so perfect, but somehow vulnerable.

Her heart galloped, and he must've heard it—his eyes flicked down to her chest for a split instant before returning to her face.

The need to throw her arms around him intensified. "Why did you stop the car?" she breathed.

No words needed to be spoken. His eyes softened as he slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets.

Her chest rose and fell faster. He was going to hold out his hand, let her be his partner through all of this. Hope made her heart beat gallop. His eyes drew her in, unveiling just how weak, alone, and uncertain he felt inside.

Reaching out to take his hand, she took a step closer.

But the spell broke. He took a step backwards and stuffed his hands all the way in his pockets. Those gentle eyes hardened and he looked away.

That hurt more than if he'd been angry she'd come. If he preferred despair and misery to her friendship, he could have it. She jerked the door handle, but was suddenly pinned between the car and him. She pushed her hands against his chest.

"I can't put you in danger," he whispered, with tears glistening in his eyes.

Shaking her head, she kept pushing and kept her eyes averted. It was too painful to see him suffering because he thought it was safer for her. "That's not your decision to make. You expect me to walk away if Superman gets in trouble. I won't."

He swallowed hard. "Lois, I have two conditions."

The struggling stilled and she looked up at him.

"We are work partners."

He was going to stop pushing her away. The relief was so great that she sagged against him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek on his chest. Happiness even threatened to overflow through tears.

But he didn't return the hug. Instead, his arms remained at his sides.

Dread crawled up her back like a spider. "And the other condition?" she whispered against his chest.

His body tightened, as if he braced for something unpleasant, too. "You don't take risks for Superman, including no stories related to him."

Slowly letting go, she tilted her head back to meet those blue eyes. "What are you saying?"

He swallowed hard and hesitated. "Anything to do with Superman I handle by myself. We don't talk about Superman, period. We're work partners and nothing more. If someone figures out that Clark and Superman are the same person, you'd be in danger, even as a friend of Clark."

She took a step back. "I'm not doing that." Anger bubbled up and she thrusted a finger at him. "I'm not turning my back on you, especially right now! You cannot carry this burden by yourself, because that's what Superman will become if you're alone—a burden."

He didn't say anything.

She spun around to grab the car door handle.

"No, Lois," he pleaded and held the door shut. "If they find out who I am, they'll hurt you."

Her face crumpled and she held up her hand. "You came into my life and become my partner and my best friend, and then walked away without a second thought!"

Those blue eyes widened in shock.

She pulled on the car door.

He let go. "No, Lois, I'm only trying to protect you. Please, this is hard for me too."

She whipped around. "No, what's hard is your best friend telling you to watch him drown but do nothing, or save him and watch him walk away! I see you die a little more inside each day, isolating yourself from everyone! You are choosing to make yourself into an alien who doesn't belong anywhere! I won't standby and watch you torture yourself to death like this!"

With a hard swallow, he looked up at the sky for a moment. Then he looked at her.

Seeing unshed tears shimmer in his eyes brought physical pain.

"Lois," he said quietly, "I told you that I'm meant to be alone. You weren't supposed to happen."

So much pain exploded. She shoved on his chest, and he let her push him back a step. "You are choosing to shut everyone out! I want to face this together! _You_ walked away!" Her voice dropped low with the hurt and anger that made her hands shake. "You're the one making this have to be a choice, and my choice is one you won't accept! I'll make it easy for you this time." She got in the car and tore down the road.

* * *

It was miserable sitting at her desk two days later when Clark was back at work, pretending to have amnesia from a car accident and having been listed in a hospital as John Doe. And now he had no memory of or interest in her.

Clark's silence and withdraw into himself didn't have to be faked. It was as if carrying this Superman secret alone and trying to figure out how to handle the nervous public was too much to shoulder. He'd disappear several times a day with odd excuses to Perry, and then Superman would be reported on the news doing another rescue somewhere in the world.

Most of Superman's rescues were small—stopping bank robberies, car highjackings, and hostage situations. Natural disasters and terrorist attacks still occurred. The public thought Superman wasn't strong enough or intelligent enough to make a difference in those tragedies, but it was much more likely that Superman simply didn't have faith in himself.

Seeing Clark slipping backwards into loneliness and self-consciousness was hard to watch. And he remained true to his word to keep her locked out—there were no more laughs, walks home, or chats about anything and everything. There simply was...nothing.

It was even harder to go along with the amnesia story, pretending to not see him drowning and to not reach out a hand to help until he could learn to swim. Because he would learn, if only he believed in himself.

"Lois!" Perry called from his office.

She walked in and he nodded for her to shut the door.

"I know this whole amnesia thing must be hard on you. Do you want a different partner?"

She blinked back real tears. "Can I work with Jimmy for a bit? Clark acts like he can't stand me."

"Sure, hun. The intern is done now, so you can move to empty desk across the newsroom over by Jimmy."

She nodded. "Thanks, chief."

Then she left and headed over to her desk, scooping up some of her things.

"You're moving?" Clark asked quietly from his desk.

She closed her eyes for a moment, having forgotten he could hear the conversation. "Yeah," she replied without emotion.

"Lois—"

"Lois!" Perry called from his office doorway. "You and Jimmy go cover a murder on the north side. Clark, take Cat and go cover a car accident with a couple semis that went into a building downtown."

Everyone dashed to the elevator at the same time.

Clark held out a hand for her to proceed when she hesitated.

"Let's take the stairs, Jimmy," she said quietly when Cat smiled and grabbed Clark's arm. The woman dragged him into the elevator, with a smile like a cat about to devour its prey.

"Lois," Clark protested.

But she kept walking away as the elevator doors closed.

Jimmy threw an arm around her shoulders. "Give him time," he said encouragingly. "You two were an epic team. I even thought there was a spark between you two. Amnesia can't squash something like that, Lois. Let's go get some dirt in the meantime," he smiled and hurried her along.

* * *

Three hours later, she and Jimmy returned. Cat stood at the front of a group of staff, making herself the center of attention. Clark hung on the outskirts of the crowd, leaning back against his desk and still wearing his rain coat.

"Lois!" Cat called. "Superman was there. And is he a hunk," she giggled. "You should have seen how he tore apart the semi truck to get the driver out," she sighed breathlessly.

Cat went on and on about how Superman stopped the building from collapsing and saved a full school bus from colliding with the jack-knifed truck.

She glanced at Clark. He looked right back, his eyes so incredibly sad.

There was something so raw about him, so bare and vulnerable. It was as if he silently screamed for her hand to be a lifeline as the world closed in on him.

Unable to look away, she pressed through the crowd to get to him.

Someone grabbed her arm to get her attention. "And I got an exclusive with Superman, Lois."

Her eyes tore away from Clark to stare at Cat in surprise. "You did?"

"He does feel like steel. And those abs—damn, they're hard."

The blood drained. Clark had always been a gentleman and very private. He wouldn't let just any woman touch him, even as Superman. He wouldn't let anyone interview Superman..unless maybe if he was interested in the woman.

"Cat, enough," Clark growled and walked around his desk to sit in the chair.

But Cat waved her hand. "He missed the whole thing—forgot his notepad in the car."

Clark turned on his computer and offered his profile, completely ignoring everyone in the room.

The look in his eyes had clearly been misread—he didn't give any sign of wanting to even look at her, much less talk.

Slipping away to her new desk over near Jimmy, she sank into the chair and forced her eyes to remain on the computer screen.

Jimmy sat to the right working at his desk. "Don't worry, Lois. Cat is just trying to make you jealous that she got an interview. Probably just a five-second one," he snorted.

She cracked a smile and glanced at him. "Not a Cat fan?"

He shook his head. "She's shallow. Not all men are on her leash. Besides, I'm seeing a girl."

"You are?" she smiled.

Jimmy smiled and looked over. "She bartends at night to pay her way through law school. You wanna swing by with me tonight and meet her?"

She tried to force a smile and looked back at the computer. "Maybe another night."

His voice came out gentle with concern. "Any day he'll remember you. You're too loud to forget," he winked in that wet-behind-the-ears but sweet way of his.

She swallowed hard and looked down at her bare right hand. The crystal ring had been shoved in the desk drawer this morning when Clark had materialized at work. "Sometimes people have a change of heart, Jimmy," she said softly. "Being unwanted is nothing new," she breathed under her breath, needing to admit it aloud so the pain might begin to fade. She couldn't help but look up across the room at Clark as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Clark watched, his gaze intense like he'd been listening to the entire conversation. That raw ache returned to his eyes as he slowly shook his head that she was wrong about being unwanted.

It was too hard to be around him. Shoving her chair back, she said, "I gotta finish from home, Jimmy. I'll email you the story. Throw in whatever pics you want."

Jimmy looked up in surprise and nodded.

She hurried into the elevator and down the street.

Heavy footsteps hit the pavement.

"Please talk to me," Clark begged.

She stopped and turned, unable to hide the tears that threatened. "Why? The second you don't have amnesia, we're partners again. And we know that's not an option for you. You said you had feelings for me in the moment. You didn't mean it, I get it, Clark. " She spun on her heel and kept walking.

He fell into step. "I didn't say it either time 'in the moment.' I meant it, Lois. I love you." He caught her upper arms. Tears glistened. Those beautiful eyes no longer shined a vibrant blue of the ocean, but were faded to gray with shadows in every line of his face. "Don't you see it's tearing my heart out to push you away to protect you? To see you hurting this badly believing that I've turned my back on you?"

She pulled away from him. "Then cut the damn cord and be done with it." She tried to pull away, but he gently held her there.

"I trusted you." The anger made the words come out in a hiss. He knew how hard it was for her to trust, much less rely on anyone. He'd let her trust and need him, and then yanked the rug right out from under her. She was so stupid to have believed any of it. "I have to go," she whimpered, all the fight draining away.

He slowly let go.

* * *

A headache beat like a drum with every step on the way to work the next morning.

Metal groaned so loudly that everyone on the street stopped and looked around. The massive water tower a block over slowly leaned left, the groan of metal breaking becoming a deafening roar. The tower disappeared, followed by screams of terror.

Darting through the alley toward the tower, she stopped dead in her tracks on the other side.

The water tower had fallen on the school and smashed through the top floor. Metal and cement eerily creaked under the monstrous weight that threatened to collapse the school and send the water tower through the last two floors. Children swarmed out, their screams of terror almost drowned out by the emergency responder sirens. Even louder screams came from those who were trapped inside.

Pulling out her cell, she dialed Clark's number and ran across the street to where frightened parents and onlookers gathered.

Voicemail.

A firefighter directing everything stood between the firetrucks. "Sir! Lois Lane from The Daily Planet. Why aren't your men suiting up to go inside?"

The older man turned around, tension in every line of his face. "The building is entirely unstable. We have a construction crew bringing cranes to get the water tower off. If you could let us do our job—"

"But there's no time! Children and teachers must be hurt. If it falls through the entire school..."

"It's Superman!" someone from the crowd yelled.

She spun around and looked up just in time to see a flash of blue streak across the sky and into the collapsed roof.

Thank god, Clark would get everyone out in time.

The water tower groaned, but it didn't move.

Several minutes passed.

The crowd began to murmur.

"He can't do it."

"Superman can't save them."

What was Clark doing? He'd lifted an iceburg that had to have been heavier than this, and it had been much larger. This should be a piece of cake. That tower had to get off before the entire building collapsed.

Darting around the police barricades, she ran along the outside of the school to the fire escape still intact on the far side. Kicking off her heels, she started climbing. Thank god for all those hours on the stairclimber at the gym.

Near the top, grunting and panting filled the air, as if someone tried to lift something terribly heavy. Superman's red cape fluttered underneath the gigantic barrel of the water tower.

She stood on the top step and held tight to the railings. Every heartbeat hurt from the panic of being three stories high. "Superman." It came out as a strangled whisper of fear.

A gust of wind.

"Lois, what are you doing? It's dangerous here." He scooped her up in his arms.

"Why can't you lift it?" Clinging to his neck made the panic fade only marginally.

"I've never lifted something so heavy and flown at the same time. I can't do it." The quiet tone portrayed the shame and grief of not being able to save everyone, perhaps even meaning some of the children. "I'll get everyone out through windows and—"

"That'll take too long, even for you."

A loud groan of metal, and the tower shot water into the collapsed roof, straight into the school. More terrified children's screams.

Another pop, and a jet stream of water hit with such force that it was hard to breathe. It took a second to realize that she wasn't clinging to Clark anymore, but the edge of the roof where she'd fallen through.

Clark screamed her name and appeared overhead, using every bit of strength to fight the water pressure and crawl toward her. It blasted against him and sprayed from every angle, as if he was a cement wall. He reached through the hole. "Take my hand! I can't fit through without making the roof collapse!'

Water rushed down his arm as he fought to keep from drowning in the spray that slammed against his body.

Her feet dangled over a cavern that had split the school in half to the ground floor. Screams echoed from below, but many hands grabbed at her ankles.

"We've got you!" someone yelled.

The edges of where he reached through began to crumble. He was reacting to protecting her. His additional five hundred pounds would make the roof cave in on everyone.

"Lois!" Clark cried in a panic and tried to reach her hand.

Holding his frightened eyes, she swallowed hard. He couldn't save everyone if he didn't believe he could. Something had to give him no choice but to believe. If she was in danger, his reaction would make it possible for him to lift the water tower. "You can save us." Then she let go of the ledge as the people lowered her down.

"Nooo!" Clark screamed and tried to lunge through the hole. His broad shoulders hit the cement roof and stopped him.

More of the floor gave away. Teachers pulled her back to where everyone huddled in a corner of the building, away from the cavern of where the school had split.

A glance out the window showed firefighters using truck ladders to evacuate children and teachers from the second floor below.

The heavy groan of metal drowned out all screams, and the building shook. The floor shifted upward as the school began to split farther apart, throwing everyone against the wall.

Horrified screams. Sobbing children clung.

She looked up.

Clark was gone.

A man's roar filled the air, causing the school to tremble. More metal groaned in protest and bricks crumbled. The water jetting into the school changed angle, turning into a gushing waterfall. It made traction impossible on the slippery tile floor, much less with bare feet from leaving her high heels at the fire escape. A teacher grabbed her arm, catching her from sliding over the edge.

And then the waterfall melted into little droplets. Sunlight poured through the hole in the roof as the water tower lifted away.

Superman appeared and lifted the water tower. Red lasers shot from him downwards, as if he welded it in place.

Cheers filled the streets.

And then such powerful gusts of wind filled the school that holding onto others was the only way to not get sucked over the edge.

Her back slammed against the wall, and she squeezed her eyes shut from the dust and debree that whirled and held two children tighter to keep them from being sucked away from some kind of tornado. Then it hit—it had to be Clark flying people out as fast as possible. The two children in her arms vanished. The wind calmed. Looking around, there was no one else left within this broken corner of the school.

No more children's screams. Only silence.

He had left her for last, probably knowing she'd have insisted on getting others out first. And perhaps knowing that her being in danger is what what pushed his strength and speed to the limit.

Not daring to move, her heart pounded as every fiber clung to the wall. The school would give away at any moment.

The building groaned. The wall tilted to become the floor. A scream ripped out as the school collapsed.

Something rock hard and warm wrapped around from behind and forced her to curl up tight. Red blocked all vision of anything—the cape.

Clark wrapped himself and his cape around her, like a shield.

Blinking, it seemed surreal to see the floor moving away from her feet, almost as if going up in an elevator. But the building kept collapsing. His chest slammed against her back, over and over, but his arms held tight.

Her heart stopped. Clark was flying up as the building came down on him.

He suddenly jerked downward but hovered, as if something weighed him down. Then he vibrated so hard that she had to grab his arms or risk slipping out of his grasp. A sudden catapolt upward, as if he broke through what had blocked him.

The momentum slowed and melted into a gentle descent. Her feet touched the ground.

The cape lowered and he stepped around to face her. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed her drenched hair from her eyes. "Are you alright?"

With a stunned nod, she took a steadying breath. "You?"

He nodded, his hair and suit covered in dust and bits of the building.

"Everyone's out?" The school lay in a heap several yards behind him. Settling dust blocked the view of the crowd.

Again, he nodded.

Stepping behind him, her shaking hands ran over his back. "How can you not be hurt? You busted through cement and bricks. Dr. Klein—"

He turned, with a small smile on his lips as he stroked her cheek. "I'm fine. You had to make a grand exit, didn't you?"

Cupping his hand on her face, her trembles slowed. It felt calm and safe with him. She looked up into his eyes that shined as bright blue as the sea again.

The smile faded, replaced with a much more intimate look. His eyes dropped to her lips, and his head slowly lowered.

Her heart raced as her eyes fluttered shut.

"Superman! You saved everyone! How did you do it?"

Her eyes shot open, and his hand dropped.

A swarm of the press raced across the playground where he'd landed behind the school.

He stepped back and turned to face them. Then he glanced back at her, the self-consciousness and loneliness returning and darkening his eyes to gray again. "You should go home and change before you catch cold," he said gently.

Just like that, the fluttering of her heart slowed to a stop. It was his reminder to leave because Superman didn't have anything to do with Lois Lane.

Clark looked back to the press, clearly in dismissal.

"Thank you for saving me, Superman," she whispered so no one would hear. "I believed that you'd be able to save all of us."

His head whipped around to her, those gray eyes wide and slightly bluer again.

She turned and picked her way barefoot through the playground. Thankfully there wasn't snow. Upon reaching the sidewalk, she looked back just in time to see him watching over the swarm of reporters and cameras.

Walking barefoot on Metropolis sidewalks wasn't easy, with all the trash and cracked pavement. Fifteen minutes and only one block closer to home. Of course those had been new heels that were now buried under the pile of rubble.

The ground swung out from under her, and she grabbed the nearest thing for balance.

Blue eyes looked back at eye level. Rock hard, warm biceps flexed under her hands.

"Clark?"

He smiled and adjusted her slightly in his arms as he continued walking. He wore his work suit again. "I noticed a damsel in distress."

She scowled. "I'm not a damsel in distress!"

"Walking Metropolis streets barefoot isn't safe. It qualifies as damsel in distress, Ms. Lane."

"Oh really, Country Boy? The minute you set me down, I'll show you a Mister in Distress."

A hearty laugh filled the air. "My apologies, I must've misread the situation. As long as I'm here, I might as well keep walking while we talk shop." He didn't set her down.

Biting her lip, she turned her head away so he wouldn't see the hurt. "There isn't really much shop to talk about being we aren't partners."

"What if we were partners again?"

He reached the front steps and set her down at the door.

She punched in the security code and glanced at him. "Oh, your suit is all wet now. Sorry."

The man shrugged. "It'll dry. What about—"

"You can't suddenly recover from amnesia, Clark. I'll see you at work." Then she ducked inside with a sigh of relief. It was so hard being near him but so far away. And almost kissing him and feeling so safe in his arms made it hurt all the more.

He wasn't there when she went back down to go to work.


	17. Chapter 17

On the way to the table from the powder room at a classy restaurant the next night, a squeak of fright escaped when Clark materialized in the dim back hall.

He practically plowed forward, forcing steps backwards into the powder room to avoid being trampled.

"What are you doing?! This is the women's room," she hissed so as not to be overheard.

"What the hell are you doing here with Lex?" he snapped in a low voice, those blue eyes practically shooting sparks of anger.

"He contacted me as soon as he found out that you and I aren't partners anymore," she retorted.

Clark leaned a hand against the wall, leaving no easy means of escape. Leaning in like he used to...and surfacing sweet memories that were best forgotten.

"Why?" he growled.

"Because he wants to bang me," she barked.

His jaw flexed and his eyes took on a dangerous glare at that snide remark.

A sigh of defeat escaped. "He wants to take me back to his place tonight and show me something. I think he has kryptonite." She raised her chin in defiance. He wasn't going to like her snooping into anything related to Superman, but then again he'd kicked her out of his life so that agreement didn't withstand.

"You sure as hell aren't going back to his place. If he does hurt you, I won't be able to get to you if there is kryptonite. Plus, his place is lined in lead."

"I didn't say anything about needing a bodyguard." She raised an eyebrow.

He heaved an irritated sigh through his nose. "You are _not_ going."

Her eyes narrowed. "You aren't in any position to have a say."

"Dammit, Lois," he hissed, "you've made your point. Now go back out there, tell him you're ill, and I'll take you home."

She lifted her chin. "No."

"So help me, I will carry you out of here kicking and screaming," he snarled.

A dark glare would make him give up.

Instead, his jaw muscle twitched, as it was want to do when his patience faded. He swung her up in his arms and shot out the back door before she could blink.

He set her down in white sand warmed by a tropical sunset and kissed by the edge of the ocean.

Bowing her head, she drew deep breaths and clutched his arms as nauseousness threatened.

"I'm sorry, I had to go too fast for the security cameras to see. Deep breaths."

A few more breaths, and she raised her head as the neausea faded.

"Better?" His voice held concern as he stroked a loose strand of her hair back in place.

She nodded and let go of him.

"Break it off!" he boomed, the ground rumbling.

The instant whiplash of his temper made the anger return. "How dare you just...kidnap me and order me around!" she shouted, her voice tiny in comparison.

He slammed a fist into a coconut tree. The entire tree flew across the water before it finally fell into the ocean more than a half mile away.

Stepping forward, she set a hand on his arm. "Settle down before someone sees," she whispered and glanced around the deserted beach.

He ran his hands through his hair. "You make me insane," he hissed and turned away.

Very few things made his temper so hot—he was usually the calm, steady one. Something had him terribly unglued. "Why did you follow me?" she asked gently.

He spun around. "I watch you every night!" he barked and then froze, as if he hadn't meant to let that secret out.

"What?" She blinked in surprise.

"I can't stay away from you, Lois," he answered, his voice softer. "I don't know who I am without you. When we're together...anything is possible. I flew while carrying a water tower this morning, for heaven sakes." He took her hands and searched her eyes. "I want to stay away to keep you safe, but the need to be near you is as impossible to resist as the need to breathe."

Holding his hands tighter, she took a step forward and looked up at him. "I can't be with just Clark and not Superman. You're the same man. The struggles that Superman faces also face Clark—even more so because Clark has a massive secret to carry. It has to be all of you, the whole package. If you want to be just friends now because of Superman, I won't hold you to things said."

Releasing a sigh, his lips pressed into a thin line as he appeared to contemplate her words. "Lois, Superman can't let you or anyone get too close, for your safety." His face fell a little. "Tonight, going to Lex's to see if he has kryptonite, is a prime example of why it's too dangerous for you to associate with Superman. If you can't draw a line between Superman and Clark, the only choice left is staying away from you completely."

An entire world of solitude reflected in his eyes, a burden too dark and heavy to be carried—even for Superman.

She stroked his rock hard cheek. "Why do you think there is so much danger to me? Why do Superman and Clark have to be two separate people when we're alone?"

He swallowed hard and eased her hand off as his gaze dropped to her feet. "People like Lex will always be after Superman. You're too important to risk."

"I see you drowning. You're my best friend, and I'm not going to sit by and watch." She reached out to touch him but withdrew when his eyes darted to her hand.

Silence. Unbearable silence that had at one time been comforting with him. Now it only drew attention to the fact that an entire world kept them apart.

"Friendship to Clark is all I can give you," he said quietly.

Swallowing down the heartache, she took what was offered. Standing on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. When he leaned down in a hug, she whispered in his ear, "I would rather have part of you as a best friend than nothing."

Hard lips brushed a kiss over her cheek, without any sign of self-consciousness with the physical reminder that he was different. "Lois," he whispered in a thick voice, unable to say anything more.

His body began to soften, so she started to pull away.

"Wait," he said quietly and didn't let go.

So she held on for another few moments.

He gave a squeeze with the hug and laughed. "I've never given a real hug before."

A laugh of happiness escaped as he held tighter and lifted her off her feet to spin in a circle.

Pure joy rang from him as the waves crashed along the shoreline and splashed up.

There had only been one or two other times of seeing him so completely happy, so freed from the shadows.

"Ow!" He stumbled, catching her at the last minute as she fell from his arms. "Oh my gosh," he gasped, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"What? What's wrong?" Standing on her own feet, she caught his arm as he sat in the sand.

"My foot."

Dropping to her knees, she reached to see. Sea urchin spines had pierced through his shoe. Guiding his shoe off and the spines out, she grimaced to see his foot already swelling and deep puncture holes in his heel.

There was no one within sight for help. Digging into his pocket for his phone, she tried again when he pushed her hand away. "Clark, sea urchins are poisonous, and you're reacting." Panic crept in. Why did he react? Would his body even react to medicine if he made it to a hospital in time? So much blood soaked the sand, and his foot already started turning blue.

"Stop touching me," he panted. "I'll heal if you don't touch."

"Oh! Right." Her eyes darted around for something sharp to poke herself and draw blood so he'd get stronger and heal before bleeding out.

"Lois, stop. I'll heal in a minute." He dropped onto his back and pressed his palms to his eyes. A forced, slightly tearful laugh escaped him. "I think I'm going to be a wimp and cry. It hurts."

"Of course you're going to cry—your foot is twice its size and you had a dozen needles almost the size of my finger stabbed through it." Another look at his foot without touching his skin. The wound healed enough for the blood to stop gushing. "It's coming. Just another few seconds." What if it was too late and the poison was in his system? Drawing a deep breath to keep the panic at bay, she glanced at him.

The poor man breathed too fast and kept his hands pressed to his eyes. "The sun is setting too much—I'm taking too long to get back to normal. Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close them," he gasped and sat up.

The moment she did, a gust of wind pelted grains of sand against her skin. A crack of thunder.

She opened her eyes.

He was gone.

Less than a minute later, a loud whistling filled the air of something moving incredibly fast. The ground shook.

Clark suddenly stood there.

"I'm a complete wimp and went to California for stronger sunlight." His cheeks burned pink in the fading sunlight.

"You're not a wimp. I would've been sobbing if that had been me." She knelt and looked at his foot. It appeared to be normal again. "Does it hurt?"

"No, it feels fine." He caught her hand and helped her stand.

"Well, I suppose that's good we know you're mortal when your skin softens." She let go of his hand.

"And lucky that it wasn't you who stepped on the sea urchin." He took her hand again. "Thank you."

She looked up at him. "You said one time that you were getting better at controlling your reaction to me. Did you let it happen, or...?"

Embarrassment swept across his face and he released her hand as his eyes dropped to her feet. "I let it happen. So I could know what a real hug felt like." His gaze rose to hers.

If that wasn't heartbreaking... "Clark, anytime you hug it's a real hug. You just can't squeeze me like a dog toy." She cracked a smile.

He didn't smile. "But to not have to calculate it to precision so I don't crush you, listening to each breath to make sure I don't hear your lungs slightly compressing before you'd even register pain. Just...a normal hug where all I have to think about is being happy."

That was so sad. "Clark, I don't want you to be worried when we hug. Just go slow, and I can tell you if it's too tight." Stepping toe to toe, she wrapped his arms around. "A little tighter."

He tightened a fraction.

"Alright, a lot tighter." She pulled his arms around tighter.

His eyes began to dilate a hint as he held her gaze. "Lois?" The silky note in his baritone voice grew husky. "You should be frightened, not trusting me in every way possible."

Resting her hands on his chest was too familiar. Friends didn't do that. But the instinct to kiss him grew stronger. "And you should be utterly bored with a mere human." She raised onto her toes and traced his full lower lip with the tip of her finger. "Clark, you can't cheat with pheromones," she breathed.

"I'm not," he whispered and his eyes fell to her lips. "I won't let things get too far. This is the pheromones," he whispered.

It slammed like a wall as he let them release. Every thought, every moment suddenly became about him, needing to kiss and touch his strong body that always kept harm away. Her hands dove under his shirt, and her mouth crushed against his, the desire so strong that it consumed everything. There was no inhibition, no instinct for anything at all but to be with him. Every sense was heightened and zeroed in solely on him—his taste, his smell, his touch...everything about him. It was the most wonderful craze that burned a smoldering fire inside.

The fever, the craze vanished just as fast as it had come.

His breath came in heavy puffs against her lips, but he didn't move. His hands were still in the same place on her back as they were a minute ago. He didn't kiss back. "I learned to control the pheromones because I won't control you."

She stepped back and ran a hand over her hair, releasing an unsteady breath. "Sorry, I..."

He tucked his shirt back in. "There's nothing for you to apologize for. I simply wanted to show you that I don't use the pheromones on you. I want you to trust me."

Her cheeks burned, and it was too embarrassing to meet his gaze. "I'm not going to comment and stroke your ego."

Silence.

A glance revealed him studying her every move.

Something needed to lighten the mood. "Keep those pheromones in check, Country Boy, because I don't need a hot guy trying to seduce me."

He fought back a smile. "Hot guy, huh?"

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she set her hands on her hips. "Are you taking me back to finish my interview or not?"

Every line of his face became expressionless, except for one black eyebrow that rose. "You're going home."

"I am not! Do you know how long it takes to get an interview with him as one of the most powerful men in—"

"The abuser world?" he cut in. "What am I thinking? Of course I should be rushing to take you back to a psycho who wants you alone in his house." He simply folded his arms over his chest, accentuating the way his sports coat strained over his shoulders.

"And you have a better way of getting to a rock that could kill you? He despises Superman, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes what it can do to you." She set her hands on her hips.

His arm wrapped around her waist and tugged, making her stumble against his chest. A soft smile played on his lips. "I didn't say anything about needing a bodyguard," he said, repeating her words. But before any retort could be made, he caught her other hand and added, "Stand on my feet." A gentle prod closer made her stand on his toes.

"You aren't getting out of this." Kicking off the high heels, she stepped onto his feet. "I—"

He slowly rose a few inches off the sand and hovered, leading a gentle sway of a dance. "You?" he prompted, with a slight smile.

All thoughts fled for a moment. It was romantic and perfect. "Clark," she breathed, lost in his vibrant blue eyes, "friends don't dance like this."

The smile faded and his eyes dimmed. The descent was so slow that it was almost unnoticeable. "Of course." He let go and slipped his feet out from underneath to take a step back. "I guess Kansas is a little different," he replied with a forced chuckle and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

It was the most obvious lie. With a frown, she caught his wrist and pulled his hand out. "Don't do that," she said gently. "There's no reason for you to be self-conscious. Clark?"

Those beautiful eyes shifted from black back to blue.

She stepped closer, searching his face. He was so gentle, so expressive...it wasn't just imagined... "Your eyes...they actually change color with your emotions."

His hand yanked free and jammed into his pocket as his gaze dropped to the ground, shielding his eyes. "I'll take you back. Just promise you won't go to his home."

It had been the wrong thing to say—just another wedge that reminded him of being different, that he would forever be alone.

"I didn't mean it as—"

"I know," he cut in, still avoiding her eyes.

The world blurred.

She stood in the restaurant hallway again, all alone.

* * *

"You look beautiful, Lois."

An urge to vomit hit.

His hand moved across the space in the car to rest over hers.

Shivers of disgust caused her hand to jerk away. "Lex, your driver passed my apartment. I told you that I don't feel well and need to go home tonight."

"You'll be far more comfortable at my home, and I'll be near to take care of you, my pet."

Pet. He saw everything as something to be owned and controlled. "Lex." The air in the limousine grew thick. Nerves made what started out as a fib of illness to escape Lex begin to turn into reality.

The car rolled to a stop at an intersection. Pulling the door handle didn't make the door open. He had locked it from the outside.

"My pet, it's alright." His hand slid up her leg and he slid closer.

"Lex, stop it!" She slapped his hand away and unbuckled to move to another seat.

Except he grabbed her arm and locked a hand around her throat, without too much pressure. He leaned over, those beady eyes soulless and angry. "Do. Not. Hit. Me. I thought you learned before that you will respect me," he hissed. His hand slowly released and a sickening smile touched his lips as he sat back. "There now, there's no need to argue, Lois."

Lex's car door ripped off and he was suddenly hauled out and dropped on the pavement. Red boots and a red cape filled the doorway. Lex's shocked expression reflected her own surprise as he looked up.

Superman folded his arms over his chest and simply glared down at Lex.

It took Lex a moment to gain his wits before he scrambled to his feet. "Superman! What a surprise." A forced smile pasted on Lex's face as he smoothed his suit jacket back in place.

But Superman's glare grew even darker, if possible.

"Can I help you with something?" A patronizing expression overcame Lex's face.

When Superman continued to simply glare, Lex shifted his feet—the only giveaway that Lex was uncertain what to do because he always controlled every situation. "Well then, we'll be on our way. I'll send the bill for the car damage to...?"

"The police station."

Lex blinked but recovered quickly and took a step toward the car.

Superman stepped in his path. "Lose your temper with a lady again, and I'll deliver you to your new jail cell. Be careful, Luther." He took a step closer, practically nose-to-nose. "You'll never know when I'm watching," he growled. He held his hand down into the car.

She slid across the seat and took his hand to get out.

Lex looked from her to Superman, and rage flashed through his eyes. "Can't get a woman of your own, so you've come to steal mine?"

"A woman isn't property," he growled and then looked at her expectantly.

Raising her arms, she held onto his neck as he scooped her up.

He shot into the air.

Burying her face against his neck, she held tight.

"I've got you," he promised. "We're not too far above rooftops."

"That only made him hate you more."

"I'm all a quiver," he drawled.

"Clark, I'm serious." Talking helped ease the panic of being up so high.

"He shouldn't have attacked you."

"I had it under control," she lied and rested her cheek on his shoulder. It always felt so safe with him, even when terrified of being up so high.

The man had the grace to not reply.

"Clark? What do we do about the kryptonite?"

"We'll figure it out. Together."

* * *

"What in the Sam Hill is going on? I thought you two needed a break, Lois." Perry sat back in his chair at work the next morning, clearly exasperated.

The amnesia story. "Um, I, well..."

Clark glanced at her. "Well, chief, my doctor thinks it'd help jog my memory to partner again. You know, keep everything as normal as possible."

"Oh. Son, I understand that it's hard for you right now. You and Lois were like this." He crossed his fingers and held them up. "Do you want this, too, Lois?"

She nodded. "He explained that he was just overwhelmed, not that he didn't want anything to do with me. It was just a misunderstanding, Perry."

"Alright. In that case, I want you both at Lexcor Museum. There was a robbery last night, and the police have no leads."

"Lexcor, sir? As in the gem collection that Lex Luther owns?" Clark didn't do well disguising his disgust.

"We're on it, Perry." She shot up and hurried out.

Clark came up to her desk as she grabbed her coat and purse. "Don't be in such a hurry to see him again," he grumbled.

"Don't be dense, Clark. It's the perfect excuse to get an interview at Lex's house and have you..." she used her fingers to point from her eyes, indicating x-ray vision, "to look through walls and find where the kryptonite is hidden. I can go steal it so you won't need to be anywhere near it."

His jaw flexed as he grit his teeth. "And if something goes wrong, I can't help you either."

"You're such a worry wart, Clark. I have black belt skills—I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't need a big strong man to rescue me all the time." She headed for the elevators.

He darted in after her as the doors closed. "I probably shouldn't name all the times that I've needed to save you from being shot, blown up, kidnapped—"

"Alright, alright! So maybe I get a little carried away investigating stories sometimes." She patted his chest. "You can keep an eye on me as my partner."

A smile tugged his lips and he shook his head.

* * *

"Lois, some of these walls are lined in lead," Clark whispered as they followed Lex down a corridor of his house.

That wasn't good—he wouldn't be able to tell if the kryptonite was nearby until it was too late. Clark had said that the outer walls were lead-lined, but interior walls too were an unfortunate surprise. "Lex? We forgot the recorder for the interview. We'll have to reschedule."

He turned into his study on the right. "Nonsense, Lois, you can write—"

The rest of Lex's words faded when she glanced over her shoulder at Clark. He stopped in his tracks in the doorway and paled as he grabbed the doorframe.

It must be kryptonite nearby.

Clark shook his head, as if he couldn't see straight. "May I use your restroom?"

"Of course. Back down the hall to the left." Lex sat at his desk.

Clark disappeared before Lex finished speaking.

With Clark out of the picture, it was up to her to sniff out and steal the kryptonite without getting caught. And this time, Clark wouldn't be there if Lex's temper got out of control again. Drawing a deep breath to slow her pounding heart, she took a seat in the leather chair across the desk and forced a smile. She should check on Clark and make sure he was alright. "Clark always carries a notepad. I didn't think to get it from him for the interview..."

But as soon as she stood, Lex said, "Don't be silly. I have paper and pen. You can use the edge of the desk to write." He pushed a piece of expensive watermark stationary across the desk and opened a drawer to set a gold pen on the desk.

A large, ornate wooden box took up most of the drawer—a box that hadn't been there a year ago when dating Lex. And Lex never kept anything in his desk that wasn't incredibly valuable. "That's a beautiful box."

He paused and looked down at it. "Do you like it, my pet? I use it to safeguard a crystal that my lab is still investigating. It could be very valuable, so thankfully it wasn't in the museum during the robbery."

A crystal. Dr. Klein said that kryptonite was some kind of crystal. "It must be a very beautiful crystal to keep it in such a box. Shouldn't you have it in a vault or something, though?"

Lex never could resist showing off something of value, and he walked right into the trap. "Yes, I probably should, my pet." He lifted out the box and set it on the desk. "I'm not sure if it's beautiful or not, as sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What do you think?"

The lid pulled back to reveal a glowing, green crystal the size of her hand. It had to be kryptonite—if dust took minutes for Clark to react, something this big would make him feel ill the moment he entered a room. It was eerily beautiful, like a quiet pond before a crocodile's strike. Lex didn't keep anything that wasn't beautiful and valuable.

She wrinkled her nose. "It's a bit...ordinary."

As expected, his eyes clouded over as he immediately lost interest in the rock. Lex closed the box and shoved it back in the drawer. "It is, isn't it? A creature of beauty would recognize beauty." His eyes perused from her toes to head, making it hard to resist the urge to squirm from his slimy gaze. "Well, let's get on with the interview."

"Let me go make sure Clark isn't lost. Your house is so big, Lex." She forced a laugh and darted out before he could comment.

Trotting down the hall, she knocked on the closed bathroom door. "Clark?"

The door opened, and Clark leaned heavily against the doorframe. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and his color had darkened to a sickly gray. "Everything hurts," he panted.

"I think it's in his desk. It's as big as my hand." Getting under his arm, she braced to take some of his weight. "You need to get out. I'll come back and tell him you have the flu and we need to go."

He leaned a hand against the wall, struggling to even shuffle down the hall. "Don't come back by yourself," he gasped and doubled over, holding his belly.

"Clark, we have to get out. If he brings out the kryptonite, he's going to realize who you are because neither he nor I have any reaction to it." He was too heavy to support by herself.

"Lois?" Lex called.

Grabbing a diabetic testing needle from her purse, she stabbed her finger. "Get us out of here." She barely had time to hold her finger up to his nose before everything blurred.

Her feet touched the road a moment later, and her hair swept away from her face as she got sick.

"I'm sorry. I panicked and just ran. Deep breaths."

The nausea subsided and she straightened, still accepting his arm as support.

"Are you diabetic?" He glanced at her purse.

A flush of embarrassment crept up. "No. It seemed like a good idea to have them on hand in case of emergencies."

Those black eyebrows rose. "To stab yourself to cause my reaction?! Lois!"

"You have to admit it's a good thing I had them today."

With a roll of his eyes, he gave a dry look. "I'm still learning to control my reactions. You don't need to be stabbing your fingers."

"Oh, settle down, country boy. They're for emergencies. Speaking of emergencies," she said and dug out her cell, "I should call Lex and tell him that you got the flu or something and we needed to leave right away before he puts the puzzle pieces together." Stepping away from his support only magnified the lingering dizziness, and the world tilted to the right.

"Whoa, there."

Her feet lifted as he scooped her into his arms.

"Maybe we should go to the hospital—maybe I went so fast that you got a concussion." Concern brimmed in his eyes.

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." She held up the phone and dialed, trying to ignore the feel of his hearts beating against her arm or the way his body heat kept the chill of the evening air away.

The phone rang on the other end. One ring, two rings.

"This is the Luther residence," Lex's butler, Nigel, answered.

She sat up straighter in Clark's arms. "Nigel, it's Lois Lane. May I speak with Lex?"

"Yes, Ms. Lane, he should be available. Just a moment." He put the phone on hold.

Clark cleared his throat and mumbled, "His Highness can't answer his own phone—"

"Hello, Lois," Lex answered.

She slapped a hand over Clark's mouth. "Lex, I'm so sorry, but Clark came down with the stomach flu, and we had to leave before he couldn't make it home at all."

"I could puke on him," Clark mumbled behind her hand.

Her eyebrows rose with a pointed look.

"You know he'd be welcome to recuperate here, and you could stay the evening with me, as well." The innuendo was hardly veiled.

Clark's eyebrows snapped together, clearly having heard the comment, and he tried to maneuver her in his arms to reach for the phone.

She pushed against his chest and dropped to her feet, holding her arm out to keep Clark away from the phone. "Thank you, Lex, but you know how it is—it's always better to recover in your own bed. Anyways, could we do the interview over the phone tomorrow?"

Clark's teeth audibly ground.

"My pet, don't be absurd. We can do it over dinner tomorrow."

Panic slammed. Being alone with Lex after the dinner disaster a couple nights ago didn't seem wise.

Out of the corner of her eye, it wasn't easy to miss Clark's fingers twitch, as if he itched to snatch the phone and give Lex a piece of his mind. But instead of butting in, he simply gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"I think the last dinner interview was misinterpreted—"

"You're forgiven, my pet."

She blinked and glanced at Clark to see the same shock reflected on his face. "Um, I meant that your attentions were unwelcomed." Her voice shook—it never shook because she was a strong, independent woman. But, Lex was not someone whom anyone crossed.

Silence.

Clark's hand slipped into hers, offering calm sanctuary through the storm.

The shaking faded, but Lex's silence drew on.

"Lois, I realize you're upset. We'll discuss this tomorrow over dinner." The line went dead.

Air gulped in, as if she'd been unconsciously holding her breath. The phone eased from her hand, and Clark cupped her chin and turned her head to meet his gaze.

"Lois, you don't have to go to dinner. He doesn't own you. Come on, let's go get some Rocky Road, and we'll figure out how to get the interview for Perry." He dropped the phone in her purse and held out his arm.

A smile slipped free, and she took his arm to walk down Metropolis's roads. "How do you know I like Rocky Road?"

He frowned. "You're my best friend, and I've known you for over a year."

She couldn't help but laugh. "That's a polite way of saying you've seen the cartons in my trash at home?"

With his free hand set over his chest, he gasped in mock offense, "I would not be so rude as to comment on a lady's trash. But I do recall some runs to the grocery store for Rocky Road after your hand surgery."

Her brow furrowed. "Did I ask you to? I was kind of out of it with the pain meds and don't remember that."

"No," he chuckled, "you didn't ask me to. I noticed an empty carton in your trash and listed Rocky Road as an option every time you needed to take food with your meds. You accepted almost each time, so I figured you must be a fan. We would not be kindred spirits if you didn't love ice cream."

The smile grew. "Is that why you always offer ice cream when we go out? What's your favorite? You always get different flavors."

"Honestly, I haven't found a favorite."

She studied his profile until he glanced over. "Butter pecan. You look like a butter pecan man."

He laughed. "Not one that has ever interested me in trying, but I'll give it a go."


End file.
